Bonded
by Nataliia
Summary: When one soul calls to another, will an angry, tragic recluse embrace the bond or will he push away his mate and his only hope for happiness?
1. Chapter 1

_ is a fantasy piece set during the historical timeline of the Opera Garnier leading up to the actual chandelier crash in 1896. I've tried to keep the historical aspects as accurate as I could but no one is perfect and there may be some continuity issues that slipped past me. Please let me know if there are :) I will throw in the usual disclaimers concerning lack of ownership of any of the characters or plots of any version of The Phantom of the Opera; they all belong to their respective owners. I will also reiterate that I've not read Kay's book and what little understanding I have of the story is based on summaries so I feel free to change things to suit my whims. Also, I've never read the Twilight books. My version of vampires are based on many different myths and legends as well as some made up crap that I threw in because I thought it sounded good. Hopefully you can suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the story. _

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1886_

The opera house was dark when Christine snuck in through a side door. The ballet rats were tucked away snugly in their dormitory; the stage hands had gone home or passed out behind the larger props. As she walked through the empty building, once more she felt it. That _something_ that pulled her time and again to this place. No, not something. Someone. Her mate lurked within these walls. She could feel him, smell him, sense his presence unlike any other. What she could not do, to her growing frustration, is find him.

_1840_

_Forty-six years earlier…_

At the death of his beloved wife, Katerina, during childbirth Helmut Daaé had known despair like nothing he'd ever encountered before. When he buried her in the small parish cemetery, he buried a large part of his heart and soul with her. As the days passed, he cared for nothing but his music and his misery; little Christine was given over to a wet nurse with barely a glance from the man who'd sired her. Even as she grew from an adorable infant into a beautiful child Helmut refused to bestow upon her any kindness or fatherly affection. She had taken his Katerina from him and so he had no use for her. It was during her seventh year when all that changed.

Helmut had been busy composing new music for his precious violin. The child, for he never once called her by name, was finally old enough to stay with the parish priest and be of use; he would be answering the pull of restlessness inside him and put this wretched country behind him. Everything had been arranged with the priest and his family. The girl would stay with them and do whatever work they felt she was capable of and, if he had not returned by the time she was of an age to marry, the priest could arrange whatever he felt was suitable. The old clergyman was horrified at the way Helmut so callously disposed of his daughter but agreed to take her in. What more could he do? Satisfied that all was arranged, he returned to his home to tell the girl to pack her things when he heard the most glorious, pure soprano. Believing his Katerina to have returned to him, Helmut rushed to the house only to find his young daughter singing in the garden while she picked the last of the vegetables before winter draped the small Swedish hamlet under a blanket of snow. The voice of an angel was trapped in the body of the creature who'd stolen his wife! That was when something inside the grieving man snapped. His misery had weighed him down for seven long years; it was only natural in his mind for the voice to come not from his young daughter but from the angel of his beautiful Katerina. She'd returned to him as an Angel of Music and Helmut knew he could not travel without her. He wrote a brief note to the priest, who prayed the man had finally emerged from his grief to care for the child, and left Sweden with the young Christine the next morning.

Helmut Daaé and his daughter traveled throughout Europe, playing and singing for a few coins, a meal, a warm bed for the night. He was an excellent violinist, a virtuoso without compare, but it was his petite blonde angel who entranced the crowds with her crystal clear voice. He still had trouble addressing the child, fearing he'd anger and insult the spirit of his wife, and so he simply called her his angel. In her youth and desperation to win her father's affections, Christine didn't protest. Instead, she soaked up the attention he now bestowed upon her and became utterly dedicated to him.

The years passed and Christine grew from a beautiful child into a stunning young woman. Her voice had matured and was as pure as ever; however, it was now her looks which drew the crowds. By this time, Helmut had grown into an old man: aged more by his misery which bordered on madness than the passage of time. The girl who'd spent half her life being shunned by her father was now left to care for him. Around this time, the wanderlust that had driven her father from Sweden had now taken a firm hold on his daughter. She knew that her father was growing weaker but something pulled her to keep moving; towards what or whom, she knew not. When they traveled to France during her sixteenth year, she knew she was getting closer to the thing that was calling to her. Her dreams became restless and disjointed, filled with images of an imposing man who'd treat her like a princess. She urged her father to make haste to Paris but he had grown ever weaker with their rough sea voyage. When they disembarked, Helmut knew that the small port town would be his final resting place. She had barely reached seventeen when her father finally left the living to rejoin his beloved Katerina. Christine buried him in Perros and left for Paris the next morning.

_1850_

There were many perils in the large city for a beautiful young woman traveling alone. She dismissed the idea of singing on the streets as she had done with her father for, with no male to protect her, her virtue would be stolen before the first song had finished. Trying to recover her rapidly dwindling funds, Christine began working at various taverns; singing for her room and board or waiting tables if that was all that was available to her. The customers' roaming hands caused her no little amount of distress and she used that as an excuse for her restless nights. Her dreams had intensified, leaving her exhausted and drained, and she felt as if someone or something was calling to her. As she wandered almost aimlessly through the streets of Paris, she greatly feared she was going mad. How could she find something when she didn't even know what it was she was looking for? It was sheer luck that she stumbled across Le Théâtre de Mystère but, once she did, it felt like she was coming home. The music that seeped through the closed door stifled her natural cautiousness and pulled her in; dark, seductive music unlike anything she'd ever heard in her young life. It didn't wrap around her heart like her father's music. No, it clawed its way into her very soul where it ravished her mind as savagely as a rapist would violate her body. Frightened of its intensity, Christine knew she should leave. Instead, she walked through the front door.

The theater itself was as dark and alluring as the music. Draped in curtains of black and scarlet velvet, the stage was partially lit by the many candelabra that encircled it. The effect unnerved Christine as much as it fascinated her for, beyond the first few feet, the stage was lost to the dancing shadows from the flickering lights. And there, off to the side and draped in a cloak of shifting darkness, was a man sitting at the piano. Timidly, she continued to advance until she had cleared the seats, halted by the handrail that bordered the orchestra pit. She gripped the railing tightly, fighting the strange urge to go to him, be with him, belong to him. She didn't see him glancing her way, but the pianist shifted his song into something familiar: _"Ach, ich fühl's, es ist verschwunden" _from Die Zauberflöte. After the introduction, Christine could swear she heard a voice in her head tell her to sing.

And sing she did. She became one with the music, letting it take over her in ways she'd never allowed while her father lived. She sang of her despair of ever finding someone to love and who loves her. She sang of her great love for the one who called to her, who would take her with him and be with her forever away from all the tedium of everyday life. And when she was finished singing, the man at the piano launched into "_Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön"_ and set her soul on fire. The passion and longing sent a thrill even as it brought tears to her eyes. Christine's young heart, eager for the same fierce love as the one between Tamino and Pamina, fell in willing supplication at the feet of the glorious tenor.

He rose after the last note reverberated into silence. A tall man, he was slim but toned, with hair the color of beaten gold and eyes that glowed red in the candle light. She feasted her eyes on his face, angular but handsome in an unconventional way; his skin was as pale as alabaster. When he held out his hand, Christine couldn't resist going to him. She didn't want to resist for now she knew. _He_ was the one who'd been calling out to her in her dreams. _He_ was the one for whom she'd been searching ever since she blossomed from a girl into a young woman. _He_ was the one. With a nervous smile, Christine took his hand and followed him off the stage. She didn't know this would be the last night she'd spend as a living, breathing human.

**xxxx**

Julien Montfort felt her long before he heard or saw her. Seventeen years ago, he'd felt that pull, that desire to find his mate, and he knew she'd been born into the world of the humans. Now, after years of waiting for her to grow and mature, _she_ had found _him_. He continued to play as the door opened carefully, betraying no sound that was audible to mortal ears. She was alone; that was even better. Darting quick glances at her, he realized she was a gorgeous female with long brown hair that hung in riotous curls almost to her waist, innocent brown eyes that reminded him of a fawn, and the body of a petite seductress. Her purity was like a glowing aura which elongated his fangs and made them uncomfortable to continue to hide within his mouth. Her beauty affected him in far more carnal ways; however, and he shifted on the piano bench to ease the discomfort of his suddenly tight trousers. Their souls cried out one to the other, demanding that the bond be sealed and for him to claim his mate.

Seeing how she responded to his music, Julien wondered if she sang or played. As he played the introductory notes for Pamina's aria, he touched her mind and ordered her to sing. The young woman smiled and entered on the appropriate note. She was glorious! Her longing tugged at the heart that had stopped beating decades ago; her voice nearly unmanned him. Here was this absolute angel singing in the devil's own theater and she was his. Julien had abandoned God a century ago but it would have taken the strength found only in that deity to keep him from responding to the despair in her song. He answered her in the best way he knew; he sang. His tenor, slightly hoarse from desire, embraced the young angel and bore her away from her light and into his darkness. He knew that she felt it too, that undeniable, inexplicable _something_ that marked one human out of millions to be the mate of one of his kind. He could wait no longer. Standing suddenly, he held out his hand and waited for her to follow him to her death and rebirth.

The hand that clasped hers so gently was cold even through the soft leather gloves. Her warmth drew him like a moth to a candle; unlike that moth, he'd not be the one to get burned. He never once forced Christine into anything, allowing her the illusion that it was all her choice. Instead, he'd simply smile, careful to keep his fangs hidden, and caress her hand tenderly. Feeling her body grow warm at the look in his eyes, she followed without question or argument. This close to each other, this close to sealing the bond, desire and need and urgency all came together into an intense longing so powerful that nothing short of true death would end it. Only when the door closed behind them and she realized he'd taken her into a bedroom did she hesitate.

Strong arms as cold as his hand encircled her waist and pulled her back to mold her to his hard body. Julien smiled at her gasp of surprise when she felt the evidence of his desire pressing firmly against her. Nuzzling the hair from her shoulder, he inhaled her crisp, clean, _innocent _fragrance and almost lost control of the beast that raged within. With amazing willpower, he resisted sinking his fangs into the pulsing vein in her neck and ran his tongue up it instead. Christine allowed her head to fall back onto his shoulder as jolts of desire too strong to understand raced throughout her body. When he began to explore her curves, she moaned softly in surrender. He slowly unclasped her gown, allowing his lips to caress every bare inch that was revealed to his hungry eyes. Before it could hit the floor, she was helping him undress her. He couldn't resist a taste of her precious blood when it was her own hands that tore away at her corset and underpinnings.

Christine cried out softly as his teeth shallowly pierced her skin. Her startled cry quickly turned to moans of desire when he brought his hands to her breasts as he lapped up the blood trickling from the slight wound. Julien's own passion-filled growl joined her moans at the taste of such a pure innocent creature. Scooping her into his arms in a single smooth motion, he cradled his victim close to his chest and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. He carried her to the large canopied bed and laid her on the blood-red silk sheets without ceasing his plunder of her exquisite lips. As he undressed, he forced his inner beast down and counseled patience. It'd been at least thirty years since he'd had a mate by his side and this passionate angel would more than satisfy him until he passed through the Final Transition. Christine's eyes widened at the sight of his erect manhood but subtle, mental assurances calmed her fears enough for her to explore his body.

The warmth of her small hands burned his skin wherever they touched. He tilted his head back in pleasure as her fingers caressed the planes of his chest and teased the light sprinkling of curls that formed a trail southward. Julien moaned when she followed that trail to encircle his throbbing shaft and run wondering fingers along its hard length. The feel of her tongue timidly lapping at his hard nub for a nipple was the final act that urged the beast free from his control. Growling fiercely, he grabbed her upper arms and threw her fully onto the bed. Before she'd even realized what he'd done, his body was pressed against hers and he was kissing her deeply. His hands were everywhere, touching, teasing, preparing her for their bodies' pleasure. The beast demanded satisfaction and he was hard pressed not to give in when the scent of her innocent arousal assaulted his senses. When she arched against him, begging him to take her, he resisted claiming her fully. He wanted her to know…

"Little One, I will have you; there is no stopping that now. What I want to know is if you want to be with me forever? You can feel it, I know; that pull to be by my side. It is what drew you to France, to Paris, to me." His beautiful voice was hoarse with the strain of having her so close and yet not claiming her luscious body. Her eyes fluttered open and stared up at him in confusion. "At first it will hurt, that I cannot help, but know this: I will cherish you until the end of my days." Julien raised up enough to gaze down into her face, his eyes a frightening shade of red as the hunger tore at him and demanded to feed on the willing creature beneath him. He opened his mouth slightly and bared his fangs to her shocked eyes. Scared of what it all meant but aching to fill that deep chasm in her soul, the strength of her passion clouded her reasoning. Whimpering with need, she arched against him and begged him to make her his forever. With a feral grin, the vampire leaned down to trail a line of kisses along her jugular. His aching manhood and sharp fangs simultaneously impaled the young singer and Christine screamed at the brutal invasion. And yet, when he flexed his hips to pull away, her hands clung desperately to his back and pulled him deep inside her once more. Falling into the age-old rhythm of passion, Julien slaked his lusts on her young, innocent body and tainted her soul with his vampiric kiss.

After that first passionate and painful coupling, he ensured that their next joining was long and slow. Her mewling cries as he brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy again and again inflamed his passions and, before he plunged into her writhing body once more, he pressed a fingernail to his chest to let the blood flow. She was hesitant to drink, not truly believing the nature of the creature she'd welcomed into her bed. Vampires didn't exist and, even if they did, they were hideously evil beasts who killed for pleasure and drained their victims. At least, that's what she'd grown up believing. Now she was forced to believe that this beautiful man whose soul had called to hers over hundreds of miles was one of those very same creatures. Her human morality and religious convictions were colliding with the truth of what he was and what she would become and so she resisted that first taste. Julien tangled his fingers in her glorious curls and guided her head gently but firmly to his chest, urging her to taste his blood and complete the bond. At Christine's first tentative lick, he growled his pleasure and savagely invaded her soft, nubile body. When she locked her lips onto the wound and began to feed, he felt the merging of their souls into damnation.

As they lay in the afterglow, Julien informed her that there was a final step they needed to take in order for her to transition immediately instead of letting her live out her normal human life. He told her that it would be her decision alone and this would be the only time he would ask; he would be by her side regardless of her choice. Christine, sated and drowsy, curled up next to her vampire lover and assured him that she wished for nothing more than to remain in his arms for many lifetimes to come and saw no reason to delay completion. Secretly pleased, he explained what would happen over the course of the next few hours. The Transition wasn't easy nor was it without its own pain and risks. The risks were multiplied since he'd be turning her during the early hours of the morning and he warned her to remain by his side at all times. Not all of the superstitions concerning his kind were false. Nodding in understanding, Christine was determined to see this through to the end. For the first time in her life she felt loved and she wasn't going to risk losing him to her own cowardice. Kissing her lips tenderly, he promised it would soon be over. Her arms enveloped him in a loving embrace as his fangs pierced her skin and he drained her last hold on humanity.

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon when Christine breathed the last breath of her old life. Julien held her close and watched over her through these next crucial hours. Bringing over a mate was never a certainty; not all survived the physical changes and even fewer recovered from the mental ones. As she began the change, he held her close and sang gentle lullabies to ease her pain. The death of one's mortality, accompanied by the body's purging of unneeded wastes, was always the hardest and most painful. Christine's seemed doubly so and he wondered if she was raised to be highly religious. Often, such convictions caused intense inner turmoil that made a human more resistant. Three hours passed before her convulsions and cries of agony ceased and she lay unmoving on the bed. With no heartbeat to check, no breath to go by, it wasn't possible to tell the difference between true death and undeath. Julien pried open one of her eyes and was relieved to see the faint red ringed in gold that marked one as being a creature of the night. As he brought the blankets up to cover them both, he awaited the final test of the first stage of her Transition: would she awaken when the moon claimed its place amongst the stars?

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Le Théâtre de Mystère - Theater of Mysteries

Die Zauberflöte - English translation: The Magic Flute, opera composed in 1791 by Mozart

ps...reposting to correct my horrible math mistake


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Insert usual disclaimer here Also, I realize the story is very Christine-centric at this moment but this is due to the fact that Erik hasn't been born yet. It will be a few chapters before he comes into the story so I hope you can bear with me until then. This backstory is needed, I promise. _

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_1850_

The sun slowly faded from view and, as the moon rose, so did Julien. The lovely creature by his side remained as still as the death that had recently claimed her. He kept an eye on her as he prepared her first meal: a sealed bag of blood obtained from a sympathetic doctor who was once an unbonded mate. Only at this fragile stage would she feast upon human blood. As she grew older, there would be other, more compelling, reasons to avoid preying upon humans beyond discretion and self-preservation. Unlike the gothic horror novels so popular amongst the females of noble blood, vampires were not destroyed by sunlight beyond their first year unless they regularly chose to feast upon humans. While crosses and other religious memorabilia could be bothersome if shoved in one's face, there were many of his kind who attended services regularly and even sang in the choir. Somehow, he felt his Christine would be one of them.

The time approached midnight and his mate at last showed the first signs of movement. The blood on the stove was at the correct temperature and soon he'd show her Paris as she'd never seen it before. Her brown eyes, now blood red from hunger, fluttered open and she looked around the room in awed silence. Everything was so much sharper now, so much clearer. She could read the tiny writing on a bottle of spirits across the room. She could hear the scratching of a rat as it scampered along a beam inside the walls. When her eyes finally fell on her lover, she smiled. Julien thought her newling's short fangs adorable in her beautiful mouth and he lightly kissed her before helping her to sit up. Now was when she had to fully reconcile to being a predatory creature.

"Christine, my love…" He chuckled softly as her eyes widened. "Don't look so shocked, Little One. After all we shared, is it really so surprising that I know your name? If you close your eyes and reach out with your heart and soul, you will know mine as well." Obediently, her lashes fell to create a warm shadow upon her pale cheek.

"Julien." His name was like a prayer upon her lips and he shuddered at the strength of his desire.

"Yes. My name is Julien Montfort and I was born in Rouen, France, in the year 1536. I am what is commonly referred to as a vampire." Her eyes widened as he told her the year of his birth. He was over 300 years old! "Correct again, Little One. I am old and reaching the end of my time here amongst the living and even amongst the undead. Don't worry, love, I have many years left in me yet. Plenty of time to train you into this new life and explain certain…differences…from your old one."

"Differences? You mean, like the way I can hear the flower girl talking to a customer outside?"

"Somewhat. That is but one thing you gain in the Transition but there are others that are not as pleasant." He tested the water that the bag of blood was boiling in and found the temperature to be satisfactory. Pulling it from the stove, he opened the seal and filled a large glass with the thick, red liquid. "This is one of the not-so-pleasant things, especially to a newling like yourself. There are many scientists who are trying to determine why certain things are as they are with us but as of yet they've found nothing conclusive. Trial, error, age, and wisdom have shown us what to do; however, we are still looking for the why for most of them. One of them is our method of feeding." He handed her the glass and watched her eyes flare at the coppery scent of the warm blood.

"For your first month, the time you are considered to be a newling vampire, you will need to feed solely on blood. To be more precise, the blood of humans. Unlike the tales passed down and distorted beyond belief to frighten superstitious fools into mindless bleating sheep, I'm not expecting you to lure some unsuspecting soul into a dark alley where you'll drain him dry and get the gendarmes chasing you. No, we're a bit more civilized than that and obtain our blood humanely and without causing death or permanent injury to our donors. This first month is crucial for your survival, Christine, but can also be one of the most difficult mentally. This is the first of several very tough choices. Can you bring yourself to live off nothing but the blood of humans until you transition into the next stage of your new life?"

"Human blood? I don't know…I don't think I can." Christine could almost feel the thick, red liquid sliding down her throat and it disgusted her. What had she done? This man, _this creature_, had turned her into some kind of a monster! Trembling, she pressed the glass back into his hands as if it would somehow taint her.

"You must, Little One," Julien placed the glass into her hands once more and brushed the curls from her face. "If you refuse, you will not survive the week. It won't be an easy death, either. Please, think of it as merely a…_unique_ dietary requirement. You won't turn into some kind of monster or whatever equally ridiculous superstition you've heard about our kind. I know you can smell it, taste it; you need this, Christine. Drink and erase the pain and hunger you're now suffering."

The look she gave the rapidly cooling liquid was very reminiscent of a young child staring at a spoonful of medicine. Bringing her eyes up to his, Julien could see the conflict she was going through. It had been the same for him as it was for most that Transitioned. Glancing back at the glass with a little moue of disgust, Christine felt his fingers tenderly caress her cheek. Leaning into his touch, she closed her eyes and sighed happily. Surely someone so loving and kind wouldn't lead her into damnation. "You promise no one died for this?"

"I promise, Little One. Due to this particular necessity of ours, there are several medical doctors who obtain the food we need in a way that causes little harm to the victims. For the human donors, it is merely another medical procedure. These doctors are extremely discreet and are either one of us or an unbonded mate." At her confused look, he explained. "An unbonded mate is a human who, for personal reasons, chooses not to seal the bond with blood yet remains a loving partner until necessity separates them. But that can all be explained in greater detail later, my love." He watched her anxiously. The first drink was always the hardest. There was still so much humanity remaining in a newling that they often had to be force fed until their first month was over. They rarely survived long after that so it was with a vast sense of relief that Christine took a sip from the glass without him having to push her into it. Her shocked eyes flew to his at the jolt of pleasure that shot through her when the blood flowed over her tongue. Gripping the glass possessively, she quickly drained it and looked around for more. Julien refilled it with the rest of the liquid in the bag and bade her to slow down or risk becoming ill. Nodding, she drank it more slowly this time and savored the acrid taste. He watched her pink tongue dart out to lick a drop of bright red blood from her lip and felt a tightening in his groin. The rest of her lessons would have to wait until later. He placed the empty glass on a side table and pressed her down onto the soft mattress. Watching her had stirred his lusts and he was eager to lose himself in the arms of his beautiful mate once more.

A month had passed and his Christine had blossomed from a newling vampire into a youngling of exceptional beauty. No longer bound by a requirement for human blood, she was entering the next phase of her new life. Because of this, they planned to travel to the country of her birth to retrieve a few things she'd need. The train ride was long and uncomfortable; moreso for the youngling than her mate. Julien was used to going for long periods without feeding while she was barely weaned from her daily meal. He used the enforced confinement to teach her how to suppress her Hunger while in close quarters with humans as well as the ways their kind fed while amongst them. To say his newling bride was most unthrilled at their method of feeding would be an understatement. He could understand, of course. The train car that carried the cattle to slaughter at the next town for the humans' meals was filthy, smelly, and altogether unpleasant. However, it was a necessity if they were to survive the long trip without issue. For several nights they stole into the cattle car where he showed her where to sink her fangs on the docile beasts and when to stop so their food supply would never run short. Christine wasn't too happy with being so close to the smelly creatures but she knew if she let her hunger build too badly, she'd break one of the cardinal rules of their kind and feast on a live human. Just the thought made her shudder and appreciate the bovine donors a bit more.

Julien was so proud of his youngling mate. She'd overcome two of the largest hurdles of a new vampire: the need to feed on the blood of humans for the first month followed by their manner of eating thereafter. He spent his days sleeping lightly in the heavily curtained private car to protect his fragile love. His nights belonged only to her: her pleasure, her joy, her understanding, and her training. He had hoped that by taking things slowly he could prevent the breakdown and hysterics most younglings go through when the romanticism wears off and reality sets in. But the human mind is a tenacious thing and it can pull one out of fantasy at the worst possible moments. They were only three days outside of Stockholm when it happened. It was 1:00am, a time they were most likely to be safe from human eyes, when they left their private car to feed. Julien advised her to drink deeply as it could be some time before they located a fresh supply in the new town. Christine approached a particularly apathetic bovine but, just as she drew close, it turned to look at her. Something in its eyes stopped her even as her fangs approached the fat, pulsing vein that held both its lifeblood and hers. The enormity of what she was doing suddenly struck her. She was feeding off the blood of a living creature like a parasite! For the rest of her unnatural life, she'd be forced to live in the shadows and sneak about like some kind of…of monster. A trembling hand reached up to feel the sharp fangs that had grown longer as she'd 'aged.' What was she doing? She'd sacrificed her soul, her innocence, her life and for what? Julien was handsome and loving and kind…but, according to the church and everything she'd ever read, he was also a bloodsucking fiend straight from the bowels of Hell. He'd lived over 300 years like this. 300 years! God in Heaven, what had she done? Just as she was about to collapse onto the filthy straw, she felt Julien's arms encircle her and hold her close.

"Little One, I know what you are going through. Truly I do. We have all gone through something similar following the Transition; I've been quite proud of you as you have, in fact, lasted longer than most." He wiped the bloody tears from her cheeks and kissed her softly. "You aren't a monster, or demon, or whatever else your mind is conjuring up for you. You are still my beautiful, gentle Christine. Nothing will change that unless you let it. This battle you feel raging inside you is because you cling to your old life, your humanity, and your fear. Let it go and you will find peace, my love."

"Let it go?" Christine's broken whisper was nearly lost against the soft linen of his shirt and she laid her head upon his chest to search for a heartbeat that no longer existed. "How can I let it go, Julien? If I do, won't I become the very creature you say I'm not? I don't want to be this…this _thing_ that lives off the blood of these poor dumb creatures and has to skulk around like a criminal, afraid of someone finding out what I am. How have you done it for so long?"

"Oh my love, I have survived because I have learned to accept what I am. Monster? Some may call us that but who are we hurting? I do not feed on humans unless I intend to cleave them to me as I have done for you. As you age, you'll see the sun again; I am as comfortable at noon as I am at midnight and so shall you be in time." He felt her tremble against him and pulled her closer, his body warm from the small amount of blood he'd taken so far. "As for these creatures…how different is this from a plate of filet mignon? At least we do not kill the beast in order to feed; it feels little to no effects from the blood we take." Seeing that she wouldn't calm tonight, Julien picked her up in his arms and started for the roof access to return them to their car. "I'll take you back to our room and we can try again tomorrow night. I hate to push you into this, Little One, but you must feed before we reach Stockholm."

Running agilely along the rooftops of the train cars, Julien worried about his precious mate. She'd gone so long without this particular breakdown that he'd hoped she'd be able to resist it entirely. Now, with only a few days before they had to disembark, she didn't have time to turn squeamish about the cattle. Forcing her could cause her mind to snap and he'd have the unpleasant task of destroying the one who meant the most to him. And yet, if the hunger grew too strong, she'd be a danger to him, herself, and every human around her. He dropped nimbly onto the landing of their car and entered swiftly. Taking his Christine into the bath, he cleansed them both of the smell of livestock and blood and wrapped them in silken robes. Lying with her on the bed, Julien begged her to speak to him so he could try to soothe her fears.

Held in the safe comfort of her lover's embrace, Christine barely acknowledged his words or actions. For over a month, she'd lived in this cocoon of happiness with Julien but now the wool over her eyes had been pulled away and she was seeing things clearly. As much as the thought disgusted her, she knew she'd have to feed and soon. She could feel the hunger rising and could actually hear the blood pumping through the humans who were in the next car. It called to her with a siren's song of steady heartbeats and she burrowed further into Julien's arms. For the rest of the night they lay thusly and talked, really talked, about her new life and what it would entail. So happy they had been to find one another that many of the details had been avoided; it was time to remedy that. The sun had begun to rise when their conversation trailed off into silence. Christine knew an important decision had to be made that next night; she had to decide whether to embrace her new life or be destroyed by it. Kissing her forehead tenderly, Julien told her he would honor whichever decision she made. Sleep was a long time in coming for both the new vampire and her master. As the sun rose high in the sky, they both prayed they were making the right choices.

The moon had a firm hold onto the night when the youngling stirred. Her master sat on a chair by the bed watching her sleep, his eyes sad but understanding. Julien feared her decision as much as he wished to rush her to make it. They simply didn't have much time. Christine had spent a fair portion of the day trying to decide what to do. Just before sleep claimed her, she came to the conclusion that there was one person she needed to ask before she was certain she was making the right choice. Rising, she dressed quickly and asked Julien to escort her to the small chapel attached to the dining car. He kissed her forehead gently and held her hand as they walked. The silence between them stretched awkwardly as even his mind was shielded from her. Christine didn't know what to expect when she entered the holy place; a bolt of lightening or a pillar of fire, perhaps? Instead, she felt the usual love and peace that had always filled her in a church. She lit a candle and prayed for guidance, all the while feeling the despair rolling off her lover in anguished waves. That was when she realized that he truly believed she'd choose death over eternity with him. Rising, she turned and took his hand, planting a feather-light kiss across his knuckles.

"My love, my own sweet Julien, I am sure to have questions in the future and I can't deny that I am uncomfortable with what I am. It will take time, of this I am certain. But with you by my side as my mate, I believe I can face anything. Even eternity." The joy that lit his eyes was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. Pulling his head down for a deep but loving kiss, she felt as if their union had been blessed by God. She may not be entirely human but she no longer felt entirely a monster either. They remained in the chapel for another hour before Julien quietly led her back to the cattle car. Christine stared at the creature for several minutes while she prepared herself for what must be done. She could feel the hunger screaming for blood; her fangs nearly pierced her bottom lip, so quickly did they lengthen. With a shudder of revulsion, she nevertheless calmed the beast and pressed her fangs into its life-giving vein. As the blood rushed into her mouth, it washed away her doubts and fears. At least for the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

Stockholm was cold, snowy, and windy and yet Christine felt none of it. Julien had to remind her to dress for the weather regardless of how she felt for it wouldn't do to have someone get curious. Chagrined, she quickly donned her thick cloak and gloves before they disembarked from the train. Even though they arrived at night (by design and necessity), the platform was full of people who'd either just arrived or were waiting for the next train out of the city. Christine hadn't counted on the noise which overwhelmed her in the crowded train station. Huddling close to Julien, she winced whenever a whistle sounded or an engineer called for final boarding. The smell of blood was everywhere; from the young infant sleeping soundly in her pram to the couple trying to hide their indiscretions behind a potted plant to the yapping Pomeranian perched on a noblewoman's lap. She struggled for control over the Hunger, keeping her face shielded by her lover's thick overcoat in order to hide the fangs that longed to sink into something, anything, as long as it gave her its precious blood. Her hands tightened on his arm and she whimpered in agony as the sounds, the smells, even the small details only she and Julien could see hammered away at her mercilessly. She felt his arm tighten around her and he murmured a quiet word meant only for her ears. Though she was still aware of the teeming life around her, her torment had lessened somewhat and she sagged against him in relief.

After what seemed like hours, the porter finally brought their bags and flagged them a cab to take them to their rented cottage. The further away from the hive of bustling humanity they rode, the calmer Christine felt until she had control over herself once more. The experience, however, had left her shaken. Whatever would she have done without Julien by her side? Shuddering, she sank further into her cloak while her mind played out every conceivable, nightmarish outcome. Once more, her lover's presence in her mind calmed her but she couldn't shake off her worry entirely. She let him know that this was something she needed to talk to him about and he agreed. After they arrived at the privacy of the cottage, of course. Nodding, she turned her attention to the world outside the window in hopes of seeing something that sparked her memories. She and her father had left the country before the snow had begun to fall so nothing looked the same now as it had then.

Julien's attention was also glued to the landscape out his window but for a different purpose. They needed to find a food supply before too many days had passed. Christine's hunger in the train station may very well have increased that need from a few days down to mere hours. He would have to keep a close watch on his youngling mate. They were approaching the cottage when the elder vampire spotted a soft glow that filled him with a sense of relief. So faint it could not be seen with the human eye, the symbol proclaimed the house to belong to either an elder or a sympathetic human. Julien knew they would have to pay the owners a visit before the sun arose in order to feed his beloved. Though he hated to disturb them without prior warning, he feared what Christine might do if he waited too much longer.

Urging Christine to enter the cottage and start a fire, Julien retrieved their bags and paid their driver. He also asked who owned the house where he'd seen the tell-tale glow. Giving the man a generous tip to compensate for the long, cold trip back into the city, he joined his mate inside. She had lit the fire in the living room as well as their bed room and was in the process of lighting a few candles when he walked in with their bags. With a smile, she followed him to their bedroom and began unpacking their clothing and putting them away. It was these quiet, _normal_ moments that she most enjoyed and which made all the rest much more tolerable.

"Beloved mate?" Julien wrapped his arms around her waist and gently nibbled the side of her neck. "How do you feel after your ordeal at the station? And be honest, Little One, for I cannot ease your suffering if you are not."

"Oh, Julien," Christine leaned back against his firm chest, tilting her head to give his lips better access to her pale throat. "I feel…jumpy. Anxious. The noise _hurt_. The whistles were so shrill and the calls to board so loud that it pounded into my ears painfully. And the blood. Oh God, it felt like it was everywhere; a buffet that I could only look at but never touch. I can still smell them, my love." She ended her confession on a pained whisper, upset that she had so little control over her hunger.

"I feared it would be so. You are still young to be amongst so many humans, Little One, but this trip was necessary in more ways than one." He nipped her neck, barely scratching the skin but eliciting a soft moan from the beautiful child in his arms. "Though it may not seem so after tonight's experience, you will find that it is easier to control your hunger here than anywhere else for you are on your home soil. It will anchor you and protect you in many ways. We will be taking some away with us when we decide to leave." Her dress fell to the floor and she tried in vain to remember when he'd worked the clasps that ran up the back. Her corset followed and was quickly joined by her pantaloons until she wore nothing but her sheer linen shift. As his hands slowly slid over the thin fabric to cup the weight of her breasts, Christine sighed contentedly and arched into his skillful hands. Feeding could wait; Julien needed to satisfy her other hunger first…and his.

The fire had died down in the hearth to little more than shimmering embers when the couple stirred amidst the discarded clothing and tangled sheets. Christine had calmed in the afterglow of their lovemaking which, in turned, eased some of Julien's concerns for his mate. Rising lethargically, they shared a bath which very nearly delayed them further until the elder vampire set her away from him so they could dress. His youngling bride pouted prettily but obeyed knowing he was only acting in her best interests. Once they were properly dressed, the couple donned their outerwear and gloves and strolled towards the home bearing the mark. As they climbed the stairs, Christine gripped Julien's arm tightly. This would be the first of their kind she'd met other than her mate and she didn't know what to expect. Would they like her? Would they approve of her Transformation? What did she say and how did she act around them? The gentle pressure of his lips upon her hair soothed her enough to prevent her panicked flight back to the cottage but she could still feel her stomach fluttering nervously.

The door was opened quite promptly at Julien's knock which made them both believe they'd either been seen or sensed. While this did nothing for Christine's nerves, her mate accepted it as both common place and common sense. One can never be too careful after all. The butler was human and deferential but no more so than a nobleman's butler to one of the upper class. He took their coats, hat, and gloves before escorting them into an elegantly decorated sitting room. Informing them that the master would join them shortly, the butler bowed and exited quietly.

Christine walked around the room gazing at all of the treasures the owner had collected over the years. There were strands of beads from Russia, silks from Persia, pottery from Greece, and books in every language. It was like a museum of the best art of the various countries and she was enchanted. Julien watched her with a smile; she was still so very human at times which reminded him how young she was both in life and undeath. He was admiring the glow of the candlelight on her chocolate curls when the door opened and a presence filled the room that very nearly overpowered him. The master of the house was once a handsome young man in his thirties with dark, wavy hair and equally dark, mysterious eyes. Christine turned and gaped at the utter beauty of the man while Julien staggered at his age. This was a very old vampire, perhaps twice as old as he. Without thought, he dropped to a single knee and bowed his head in reverence and respect.

The ancient one's eyes bored into his youngling mate's and she, not knowing his age or the significance of it, blushed and smiled shyly at the handsome man. Amusement shone in his weighty stare and he gestured for her to join him. As she walked the length of the room to the sofa, he directed Julien to take his place beside his mate. He chose an elegant chair and waited until Christine sat before he followed suit. It pleased him that Julien was gentleman enough to do the same. So many forgot their manners during the Transition, it seemed.

"Greetings unto you, master vampire as well as to your youngling mate. What brings you to my home on such a night as this?" Even his voice was seraphic and Christine very nearly swooned at his feet.

"Greetings, Ancient One, from Julien Montfort, lately of Paris, and his mate, Christine Daaé, born of this land. We come seeking only information of a safe place to feed for my youngling was sorely distressed at the crowds in the train station." Julien's cold fingers wove their way through his mate's; never before had he met another vampire older than he, much less _this_ much older.

"Ah, I see. You are wise to seek information quickly yet I wonder at the wisdom of traveling with one so young?"

"She had passed the first month, Ancient One, and we needed to procure some home earth for her before she entered fully into the second Transition." He kept his demeanor respectful but inwardly he chafed at having his motives questioned like he, himself, was a youngling. The master nodded his head in agreement but the twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes let Julien know he'd felt his resentment and took no offense.

"What is your name, monsieur, if I may be so bold as to ask?" Christine's flawless voice broke into the conversation and her eyes remained on the Ancient One's face as if mesmerized. Julien hoped that to be the case as she'd just broken several rules of propriety when dealing with others of their kind.

"Forgive her, Ancient One, but she has yet to meet others or learn the proper…"

"Enough." His tone wasn't harsh but it did command obedience; Julien fell silent. Their host stood and held his hand out for Christine to take. After a glance at her mate, she hesitantly laid her hand in his and allowed him to help her stand. With the contact of their flesh, she finally felt the years that lay across his ancient shoulders like a mantle and she wondered if she was to be punished for her impertinence. The gorgeous creature, instead, surprised her by bowing low over her hand. Kissing it lightly, he then straightened to tower over her and gave her a smile that would melt the snow. "Mademoiselle, forgive me my manners. I am Count Laurent St. Claire and I am quite enchanted."

Christine blushed so deeply that she wondered if even her hair had turned red. Dear God, he could seduce a blind woman with that smile and coax the stripes off a zebra with his voice! Dropping a low, respectful curtsy, she murmured a nervous greeting before extracting her hand from his and returning to her mate's side. St. Claire gazed at her with a mixture of surprise and respect; few younglings could resist one of his age and many had thrown off their mates at the prospect of being with an Ancient One. This child, human for less than eighteen summers and vampire for less than two months, had been flattered but not tempted. If he weren't so impressed, his pride would be bruised.

"Monsieur Montfort, you have chosen your mate well and I commend you. You are both welcome in my home at any time." Julien had to stop from openly gaping at his host. This was a high honor from any of their kind but especially an elder of so many years. "As for your inquiry, I keep a small herd of livestock in a secluded pasture behind my home. It is far more convenient for my guests or other travelers and safer as well. They are at your disposal during your stay in our little village."

"You…you're too kind, Ancient One. This is a great honor and we feel it keenly." He was certain this was all a lovely dream and they were still on the train.

"Oh, never mind all that. It is rare that one of us travels to the area and I am pleased to have the company of you and your mate. Perhaps you would do _me_ the honor of joining me for dinner tomorrow night?" Christine paled and wondered just what such a dinner would entail. It was bad enough to drink from the cattle with only Julien as witness but to do so before this gorgeous creature was unthinkable. Their host noticed her discomfort immediately. "Mademoiselle Daaé, you object?"

"I…no, not really. Well, perhaps." She chewed her bottom lip, a nervous habit left over from her human life. "I don't wish to offend, Monsieur le Comte, truly I don't. I just don't see how…well…what I mean is…oh, surely you won't bring one of those smelly beasts into your lovely home?" Embarrassed, Christine kept her eyes on her clenched hands while Julien stared at her in mortified shock. To both of their surprise, St. Claire burst into laughter which soon had him clutching at his sides.

"Julien, I hope may call you that? You have won yourself a prize beyond compare. She's delightful." Still chuckling, he caught her hands and stilled their nervous wringing. "Mademoiselle Daaé, there are more ways to feed than in just the stockyards. No, no, do not apologize. You are young and it is refreshing to one who's seen as many millennia as I." Once more he pulled her from her seat and motioned for Julien to rise as well. "I shall escort you to the pasture tonight so that you will know where to find it later. Dawn will come in a few hours so I'd advise you to be quick this night; you'll need to get your youngling home before the sun rises."

Their host kept up an easy flow of light conversation as they walked down the short path to the pens. Christine felt herself liking him immensely though not in a romantic kind of way. He was more a father or brother figure than a lover; that distinction belonged only to her Julien. Unlike the cattle car, the pasture was clean with feeding troughs lined with hay instead of it lying scattered over the floor. Each beast was in an individual stable which was also free of excrement beyond what had been produced that night. As they drew closer, Christine noticed that the skin covering the vein Julien had always directed her to use had been shaved smooth. For once, she felt little revulsion at the idea of feeding off the creatures. Grateful for her host's thoughtfulness, she turned to thank him only to find that he was nowhere to be seen. Her mate simply shrugged and bade her to drink carefully. After such a welcome it would be irreparably rude to injure one of the Count's cattle.


	4. Chapter 4

The trek back to their cottage was spent in the mellow warmth that only comes from being well fed. As they neared the front door, however, Christine could feel the burning of the sun even though it had yet to clear the horizon. The elder noticed her discomfort and quickly unlocked the door. With a whimper, she sped into the house and to the safety of their small, windowless bathroom. Julien followed and locked the front door before closing the heavy drapes to block out the painful light. Once the room was cloaked in darkness, he fetched his mate and helped her prepare for bed. Holding her close in the protective circle of his arms, he felt her body relax into a deep, recuperative sleep. With a smile and sense of security, he brushed his lips across her brow and joined her in slumber.

By 3:00 that afternoon, Julien was well rested and dressed to go out. Leaving a note by the bed for his mate, he left the cottage for a brisk walk into town. His trip fulfilled two purposes: Christine needed a gown worthy of dinner with an Ancient One and the townsfolk needed to see at least one of the renters of the cottage during the daytime. He knew from past experience that no matter how practical the people, they grew suspicious if you only left your home at night. It was difficult to find something on the rack that was both suitable as well as small enough to fit her tiny frame but his patience and fat purse were rewarded after an hour's search. The shopkeeper brought out a pale green confection that would look stunning on his youngling bride. There were shoes, gloves, and a small hat that matched which he added to the purchase. He didn't bother to haggle over the price and carried the box out of the shop with a spring in his step. His last stop was to a grocer where he placed a modest order of food to be sent up to the cottage the next morning. Wasted money, perhaps, but well worth the peace of mind.

The sun had just started to set when he reentered the cottage. Hanging up his coat and hat, Julien brought his purchase into the bedroom where his mate still slept. He stoked the fire, ran her a hot bath, and placed the gown on a hanger to remove any wrinkles before returning to her side to ease her awake. Christine grumbled irritably and pulled the blanket over her head as she tried to roll away from her love. Clasping her tightly against him, Julien grazed her neck with his fangs which immediately brought her moaning and pressing against him. They had time running against them if they were to arrive at the Count's house in time but he couldn't resist carrying her into the bath where he stripped and joined her. Though he washed her quickly, Julien made sure to touch and tease her mercilessly before setting her away from him and completing his own ablutions. Christine growled in frustration and glared at her smugly grinning mate. Oh, he was going to pay for this before the night was over.

Stomping into the bedroom, she had just pulled on her corset when she saw the dress. The skirt was the palest green silk embroidered with edelweiss along the hem and draped with a sheer cream-colored overskirt. The bodice was of the same silk and was decorated with edelweiss along the collar. Julien had entered and tied her corset before helping her into the beautiful frock. As he worked the row of tiny buttons up the back, he gently kissed her bare shoulder and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Christine turned to look at it from all sides and noticed how it shimmered and flowed as if she were a mermaid frolicking in the foam of the ocean. There were matching gloves and slippers and the entire ensemble made her feel like a princess.

"Do you like it, Little One?" Julien watched her with a tender smile as he dressed; she was more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed.

"Oh, Julien! It's wonderful. Wherever did you get it? And when?" Running over, she leapt into his arms and showered his face with kisses. Chuckling softly, he set her away with a swift kiss to her lovely lips.

"I'm glad you like it, my love. As for your questions, I bought it at a tailor shop in the village this afternoon while you slept. I thought you might like something special for dinner with the Ancient One."

"Why do you not call him by his name, Julien?" Her brown eyes still held an innocence that amazed him at times. He helped her with her cloak and gloves before ushering her from the house.

"Could you not feel how old he is, Christine? I am the oldest of our kind that I'd ever known until we met Count St. Claire. He feels at least two centuries my elder if not more. It's unheard of for one to last so long after the Transition." They strolled down the lane like any normal, human couple, keeping their voices low to avoid anyone overhearing the subject of their conversation.

"I…knew he felt different but perhaps I am too young to really comprehend such things." She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. "I hope I didn't embarrass you last night; you both seemed so shocked by what I said. I often speak without thinking first."

"Beloved," Julien brushed a soft kiss against her brow, "etiquette amongst our kind can get…confusing. Generally speaking, however, a youngling, especially one as young as you, would only speak if directly addressed to show deference to her elders. I had expected a human and so hadn't coached you in these things. Thankfully, the Ancient One found you as charming as do I."

"Oh," Christine frowned and grumbled softly, "I've never been much of one to adhere to the 'don't speak unless spoken to' rules even as a child." Her mate chuckled softly.

They were less than five feet from the front stoop when the butler once more anticipated their arrival and opened the door. Even the elderly human was captivated by his Christine and Julien fairly glowed with pride. As they once more handed over their outerwear, the butler directed them to a different room than before. The Count bade them to enter at the butler's soft knock and the couple was ecstatic to see a well-appointed music room. Julien gazed longingly at the piano but the sheer aura of the ancient vampire reminded him of protocol as well as his manners. When St. Claire's eyes widened at the vision that was his Christine, the elder's pride turned into jealousy. He, too, had heard tales of younglings leaving their bonded mates for an older of the kin. Unconsciously, he held his bride a little closer than before in a blatant show of possession. Their host merely chuckled and bade them to make themselves comfortable. Casting a final, longing gaze at the beautiful piano, Julien led Christine to the settee.

"Monsieur le Comte, you have a lovely room with some very beautiful instruments. Do you play them all?" Not even realizing she was once more breaking protocol, Christine gazed about the room in awe. Only in an orchestra had she seen so many instruments in one room. When Julien would have said something, the Count waved him into silence.

"Why yes, Mademoiselle, I do. Do you enjoy fine music?" It amazed the ancient vampire that this very singular child didn't feel intimidated by his age as did her mate. It was refreshing. If he hadn't seen the depth of their bond with his own eyes, he might have been tempted to lure her to his side.

"Oh, yes! Julien is a wonderful singer and pianist and I've sung with my father since I was a child."

"Perhaps you would honor this old creature with a performance before dinner?" Her enthusiasm was contagious and he envied the other, younger vampire for having bonded with her. Christine looked hopefully at her mate who was equally eager to get his hands on the exquisite piano. As one, they rose and made their way across the room. Julien put her through her scales to warm up as they chose a song that would compliment their talents.

With a nod, Julien launched into the opening notes of Tosca's duet from Act I: _O Dolci Mani._ As their voices wove together in beautiful harmony, the Count was impressed by the elder's abilities with the piano and his beautiful tenor but he was entirely awed by Christine's angelic voice. Though untrained, her voice was a startlingly pure lyric soprano. He'd known many, many opera singers over the centuries who'd spent years trying to reach some of the notes this youngling child sang with ease. He would have to suggest she take the stage at some point for it would be a crime to hide such a gift away from the world. The human butler, drawn by the beauty of the duet, stood quietly just inside the doorway. Dinner was ready but he was more than reluctant to interrupt the glorious angel and her accompanist. Only when the final note faded into the silence did he draw his master's attention to inform him that all was in readiness.

Count St. Claire rose from the settee and gestured to the couple to follow his servant into the dining room. Julien balked at first; everything he'd been taught was being thrown over by his youngling bride and ancient host. The count found the elder's strict adherence to tradition as equally amusing and as it was annoying. He'd become tired of the scraping and pandering a century ago which was why he enjoyed the youngling so much. Somehow, she saw past the immense weight of his years to the man he used to be. If he could get her mate to loosen up a bit, they'd be a couple he'd be proud to call friend.

The dining room was as much a shock to Julien as his host's disregard for protocol and tradition. Instead of a lavish table large enough to seat a small village, there was only a modest setting tastefully decorated with a vase of fresh flowers and only a few elegant silver serving dishes. Three chairs bordered the round table though only two were exact matches. It appeared the Ancient One didn't entertain often. When instructed to sit wherever they pleased, Julien held a chair for his mate before taking the seat beside her. St. Claire then sat and gestured for the butler to remove the warming trays. After the elderly human had filled their glasses from a ceramic pitcher kept warm in a bed of coals, he was given leave to retire for the night. Bowing low, he exited quietly.

Glancing at the others, Christine was uncertain about the conduct at a dinner such as this. At home before the Transition, they would always say Grace before the meal. Once she'd changed, she gave a silent prayer for the soul of the animals upon which she fed. But this…the last thing she wished to do was insult her host or embarrass her mate so she clasped her hands in her lap and watched her companions surreptitiously. St. Claire felt the confusion in his young guest and looked at her mate inquiringly. Julien took Christine's hand and nudged under her chin to bring her eyes to his.

"What's wrong, Little One?" Blushing prettily when she noticed both gentlemen looking at her in concern, the youngling stammered out her concerns.

"I don't want to embarrass you, Julien, by doing something I shouldn't nor do I wish to insult or upset Count St. Claire but…"

"…but you wish to say Grace?" The ancient vampire smoothly finished the sentence when she faltered, earning a grateful smile from Christine and a slightly annoyed look from Julien. He refrained from showing his amusement at the younger creature's spark of jealousy, but only barely. "Julien, do you mind...?" At the elder's negative shake of his head, St. Claire smiled at the youngling and encouraged her to lead them in their prayers of thankfulness.

Neither man was religious even when living and had become less so after their Transitions; however, both wished to set the youngling's mind at peace, though they did so for different reasons. Julien, of course, wished his mate to be relaxed and enjoy the unique experience of dining with one so old. She would later learn that in merely meeting St. Claire she would become something of a legend. As for the Count, he enjoyed the young couple when they weren't forever worried about etiquette and what they felt they _should_ be doing. Christine's prayer was short but sincere and she felt much better for having followed the beliefs of her childhood.

As their host, St. Claire encouraged them to serve themselves with whatever looked appealing and to not hesitate to ask about a particular dish. He directed his last to the youngling since she'd never had a meal such as this since her Transition. Christine was surprised that the dishes looked so _normal_. There was a plate of sausages, a bowl of pudding, red wine…she looked up to find both her host and her mate watching her. She felt her face redden in embarrassment and wondered what she'd done this time to bring that amused twinkle to the Ancient One's eyes.

"If you'll forgive me for speaking of unpleasant things for a moment, Monsieur le Comte…?" Julien waited for his host's nod before addressing his mate. "First, don't be embarrassed, Little One. This is a new experience and you can't expect to magically know everything. The dishes look similar to those you might have eaten in your old life but they have a singular difference." He placed a small portion of each dish onto her plate and encouraged her to taste them. "They are primarily made up of blood. The casings and other waste products will be purged from your body in a way reminiscent of your old life."

"Why do they each taste so different?" This time, even St. Claire looked at her in shock.

"They are from different species of animal: cattle, sheep, horses, all have a different taste. It keeps feeding from becoming routine." As he answered her inquiry, the Count caught Julien's eye and raised a brow; the younger vampire merely shrugged helplessly. "My dear, you can tell the difference?"

"Well, of course." Christine had yet to look up and see her companions' shock as she savored a small bite of sausage. "The pudding is from the cattle; that is a flavor I recognize easily. The sausage tastes a bit more…I don't know, earthy maybe? It's hard to describe. As for the wine, it is vastly different from either. Why?"

"Christine," Julien hesitated briefly but continued at his host's behest, "distinction of flavors is rarely recognized in a youngling of less than a year. It is absolutely unheard of in one as young as you."

"Oh," she looked from one to the other, once more uncomfortable to be the focus of their attention. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh no, my dear." St. Claire chuckled softly and raised his glass to the youngling. "I reiterate my opinion of last night, Julien. She is absolutely delightful. Now, let us cease embarrassing the child and enjoy the meal and good company. You mentioned having recently left Paris…?"

As the dinner progressed and the younger vampires became more relaxed in the company of the Ancient One, the conversation became spirited and filled with laughter. Both gentlemen took great pleasure in teasing the youngling for her blushes brought a glow to her pale face that made her beauty increase exponentially. Though he enjoyed the fierce devotion and possessive jealousy that Julien had for his Christine, St. Claire finally reassured him that he wasn't seeking a mate nor would he dream of being so callous as to take one that was already bonded to another. He stressed that he viewed the girl in a fatherly way and had no designs of a romantic nature. Seeing his disbelief, for the child was a gorgeous captivating creature, the Count informed Julien that he had an unbonded mate though there were none who knew of the relationship. A sudden image appeared in the mind of the younger man and he finally let himself relax.

The small party retired to the music room after dinner and St. Claire honored them with a rare performance. Having had over 550 years to train in music, his skills were incomparable. Afterward, all three sang together until Christine began to grow uncomfortable with the rising of the sun. She was still young enough to require shelter from its burning heat and, though the first rays had yet to illuminate the land, she could already feel it against her tender skin. Apologizing for having kept them so late, St. Claire offered them a lavish guest room on the second floor. It was in excellent taste and had shutters over the windows that completely blocked out the painful light. Grateful for his kind consideration, they bade him good night, quickly disrobed, and fell into each others' arms. They were asleep within moments.

* * *

_A/N: I know there's a lot of Christine and Julien and a decided lack of Erik, but he's coming :) Please review with your thoughts and opinions, good or bad, so I know whether to pursue this rather strange tale or scrap it for better inspiration._


	5. Chapter 5

After that first dinner, the young couple was often in the company of the ancient vampire. Christine saw in him the father she'd been denied for so many years and grew to care greatly for him. Julien, once he'd finally relaxed enough to break from protocol, appreciated his wisdom and fine wit and developed a fierce respect for the Count. Within six months, they'd given up the lease on the cottage and moved into the Count's elegant home. Together they helped the youngling through the third stage of Transition; beneath the tutoring of both elders Christine blossomed from an awkward but gifted youngling into a poised, sophisticated vampire. It was during this joyful time that tragedy struck the St. Claire home. Klaus von Ulrick, the Count's butler and unbonded mate, succumbed to the winter's chill and died of fever near the end of their first year together. The ancient vampire was devastated at the loss even though he'd known it was inevitable. In all their years together, he'd never been able to convince his mate to Transition. The only solace that could be found was in the form of a letter the human had left for his vampiric lover. In it, Klaus confessed that he'd known St. Claire was nearing the Final Transition and had no desire to live beyond the man to whom he'd devoted nearly sixty years of his life. He promised to wait for him in that murky place beyond life and undeath, for nothing could ever part them for long. They cremated the body and placed his ashes into a ceramic urn. The Count told the couple that, when the time was right, the ashes would be scattered to release his mate's soul.

Three months after Klaus' death, St. Claire bundled them into his private coach for a trip to the coast. It was time, he said, to fulfill the final wishes of his mate. They arrived an hour before dawn and all walked onto an outcropping of rock that overlooked the crashing waves of the ocean. Christine was nervous about the time but had yet to feel the customary pain that came with the sun's rays and so she placed her trust in her elders. Minutes before sunrise, the Ancient One handed her the urn and asked that she scatter the ashes into the wind and sea while he sang the Requiem. Lost in the beauty of St. Claire's voice and the poignancy of the duty he'd asked her to perform, Christine wasn't aware exactly when the first ray of light fell upon the waves. Julien's arms snaked around her waist as the Count took the urn from her hands so she could watch the sun rise for the first time since her Transition. Overcome, Christine cried blood-red tears of joy. After so long in the darkness, she'd finally stepped back into the light.

_1856_

Count St. Claire never did recover from the loss of his beloved mate; before the spring thaw he welcomed the Final Transition and they scattered his ashes into the same ocean as his beloved Klaus. All he owned had been bequeathed equally between Julien and Christine for the joy and friendship they'd brought him in his final months. Needing to escape the gloom that seemed to hang over the house, the couple arranged for a groundskeeper to maintain the estate and began to travel. For five years they explored the remote corners of the world. Christine performed at the Imperial Bolshoi Theatre of Moscow for three seasons in secondary roles before they decided it was time to move on. In Venice, Julien made a name for himself in the orchestra of La Fenice with his mesmerizing skill at the piano. Spring of 1856 saw the couple in Madrid, Spain, at the newly opened Teatro Real for a performance of Donizetti's _La Favorite_. It was during this performance that Christine felt a change within her that she didn't understand. She felt a yearning for something or someone that was nearly overwhelming in its intensity. It pulled her towards the mainland, back towards France. With effort, she kept the longing hidden from her beloved mate for as long as she could.

"Julien?" Safely ensconced in his warm embrace after a night of gentle lovemaking, Christine finally broached the subject of this mysterious ache she'd felt for nearly a month.

"Yes, Little One?" His face was buried in the silky curls at the base of her neck where he breathed in the faint scent of the blood that flowed beneath her skin.

"I…have a question but I'm not sure, really, how to describe or explain it. Several weeks ago, while we were watching _La Favorite_, I felt this odd…pang; like something was calling to me. Since then, I've had an urge to return to France though I have no ties there. Am I simply growing tired of traveling and feeling homesick, my love?"

The confusion and innocent query in the soft, brown eyes of his mate nearly ripped his heart from his chest for he did know the meaning of her yearnings. Somewhere in the mass of humanity that called France its home, one very singular human had been born whose soul called out to hers. That human would become his Christine's mate when their time was through. He'd not looked forward to this particular lesson. He was, after all, a possessive creature and jealous of those who admired his beautiful young bride.

"Christine, do you remember the day we met when you were drawn to the Le Théâtre de Mystère?"

"Of course but why …?" He nipped her neck to halt her interruption; this wasn't easy for him.

"Did you not tell me that you'd felt drawn to Paris, to the theater? I knew you were my mate the moment you walked through the door to listen to me play. I felt you then as I feel you now; the same way I felt you on a certain warm, summer day in 1833."

"How could you sense me then, Julien? I'd just been born!"

"Exactly, my love."

She remained quiet in his arms as she desperately attempted to deny the implication of his words. If he'd felt that longing for her the day she was born, did that mean that she'd just done the same for someone else? No! That was impossible. She could never leave Julien for _he_ was her mate and no one else. "But…beloved…?" Christine whimpered and felt his arms tighten around her waist.

"Little One, our kind may have many mates before the Final Transition. I am old, Christine, older than many. I've seen centuries come and go and have enjoyed many unbonded mates in that time. Until we'd met Count St. Claire, I'd believed I was the oldest in all of Europe. When I felt your soul blossom and call to me, I knew you would be the one with whom I bonded; my last mate who will be by my side when I pass into the true death."

"No! Julien, don't talk like that!" Christine turned around in his arms to frantically hold him close to her. "You aren't going to leave me and I'm not going to leave you. We're bonded mates, my love, for all of our lives. You promised me, remember? You promised!"

"Oh, Little One, I know, I know. I told you when we met that my time drew short but that I would love and cherish you for the rest of _my_ life." He cradled her weeping body tenderly to his chest. "Stay strong, beloved, for I'm not leaving you any time soon. You are still mine and I dare anyone to try to take you from me."

"I don't want you to go _ever_, Julien. Please, don't leave me." Kissing away her tears, he said nothing for he couldn't, _he wouldn't_, make a promise he knew he'd be unable to keep. They held each other the rest of the night and long into the following day.

The weeks and months passed and the ache and yearning inside her lessened to a muted hum of awareness. Julien assured her that it was normal and that it kept her alert to her potential mate's continued existence. Christine simply nodded and changed the subject. If discussing a new mate made him uncomfortable and jealous, it made her absolutely miserable and frightened; neither wished to focus too long on a future that held such heartache. The couple remained in Madrid until the glorious colors of fall painted the landscape and the wind developed a chill. Though it had not been discussed, they knew it was time to leave Spain and return to Sweden and the house they'd once shared with the Count.

**xxxx**

Over a thousand miles away in a small, rural French town northwest of Paris, a nobleman's wife was struggling to give birth to what she'd hoped would be her husband's heir at last. After many years of trying to do her duty as a wife only to miscarry early into each pregnancy, she had finally carried full term. Yet, this child also had his share of problems. To begin with, Lady Minette de Lune was a petite woman, slim to the point of looking boyish, and the midwife was quite vocal about her narrow hips being unsuitable for childbirth. Her husband, Lord Francis de Lune, was the exact opposite standing at over six feet and quite broad of build. All who would aid the Lady in delivery worried that the child would more closely resemble the Lord in size and bring even more complications than he had already. The months of her pregnancy had not gone well for her; she suffered morning sickness each day until the first labor pains began which meant that she'd lost more weight than she'd gained. The last three months had seen her restricted to her bed for the health of the child and she grew to hate the confinement. A vain woman whose beauty was well appreciated even in Paris, she hated the bulge of her stomach where the child grew, the stretch marks that marred her perfect skin, the pallor from constant illness, and isolation from her friends who'd flatter and fawn over her. She was determined to bring the necessary heir into the world and then ensure that never again would her body get distorted in such an ugly, _vulgar_ way.

For nine hours, Minette had alternately begged and demanded for the midwife to remove the creature that was ripping her body apart. The child was in the breech position and, to make things even more complicated, the umbilical cord had wrapped around his neck. When they began turning the child in order to secure a safe birth, the lady screamed and thrashed so badly that she had to be restrained to prevent injury to herself or the baby. Fourteen long and painful hours had passed before the child was finally brought into the world and all were pleased at his healthy set of lungs. The midwife managed to get a good look at the child before he was handed off to a maid to clean and present to his mother for feeding; what she saw nearly made her drop the infant in surprise and horror. The boy's face was smooth and unblemished on the left side; however, the right side was disfigured almost beyond recognition. The boy's eye drooped while his upper lip was red and puffy; there were places where the skin appeared to be so thin that one could see the blood pulsing through the veins. Though his black hair covered most of his head, it was patchy along the right side. If one looked closely, the gaps in the hair revealed his bone white skull. The child was hideously deformed and the midwife knew the vain Lady Minette would never accept him.

Carefully wrapping the child, she sought Lord Francis to discover what to do with the boy. The family had already arranged for a wet nurse to care for him since his wife refused to have a child 'suckle at her breast like some cow' so it might be best to remove the boy to her immediately. She knocked on the door of the study where his lordship awaited news of the babe and hoped he'd not started drinking yet. When she was bid to enter, she pulled the child closer to her protectively and went to tell her employer that his child was less than perfect.

"My Lord, your son has arrived but…there are complications." The midwife dropped a low curtsy just inside the door, dismayed at the half-empty carafe of brandy on his desk.

"What do you mean complications? I'm sure his mother made it through the delivery looking every inch the society lady that means so much to her." The nobleman spoke bitterly as he drank the brandy in his glass before refilling it.

"Well, Your Lordship, the boy is…well, he is…"

"Dammit, woman, out with it! What's wrong with my heir?"

Not knowing how to tell the volatile man, the midwife approached the desk and pulled the blankets away from the child's face. Lord Francis stood so abruptly he nearly fell over the chair as it crashed to the floor. The look of horror on his face made the woman's heart sink in her chest. She knew Lady Minette would be unable to love the boy since outward beauty was so very important to her; but she'd hoped the boy's father might see past the disappointment of his face.

"Evil witch, what have you done to my son?"

"Lord Francis, this is your son whom you wished to name…"

"No! That…that demon spawn is not my son! Be rid of it immediately, witch, and bring me my boy."

"But, Your Lordship…"

The frantic knocking on the door, which was opened before awaiting a reply, interrupted the midwife's protest. The maid she'd left in charge of soothing Lady Minette entered almost in hysterics. Her apron was covered with blood and she fearfully told the midwife that the lady was bleeding profusely and they couldn't make it stop. Smothering a curse, she quickly ran to the birthing chamber and saw that the floor was covered in red-stained towels and that the noblewoman had very little time left. She approached Lady Minette and told her about her son; that he was beautiful and a fine, healthy boy to be proud of. Too weak to hold her child, Minette smiled to think she'd been a proper wife at last and gave in to the alluring pull of death. The maid, hovering just inside the door, was sent immediately for the wetnurse and the priest while the midwife held the boy and kept him concealed from prying eyes.

The wetnurse arrived first and the midwife prayed she'd be accepting of the child. Cecile Giry and her husband, Michel, were tenant farmers on Lord Francis' estate and had been since their marriage. They were a young couple with a newborn daughter who, though of an age to be weaned, continued to suckle so that the mother could nurse the heir to the de Lune family. Pulling the young Madame Giry aside, the midwife explained about the difficult pregnancy, breech birth, hemorrhage, and death of Lady Minette. She then placed the infant into Cecile's arms and warned her of the boy's face before pulling back the blanket. Twin golden eyes gazed at this new person from a child that appeared half angel and half demon and there was an instant bond. The wetnurse knew the boy wouldn't have an easy life but she was determined to ensure he got a good start. Covering the child once more, she slipped out of the mansion just as the priest arrived to say the Last Rites for the deceased noblewoman.

Michel had not been as accepting of the infant as Cecile and demanded that she take it to the church and let the priest remove the demon inside. They had argued for hours until, at last, her husband had agreed to let her nurse the child. Afterwards, he said, the monster had to go. Cecile said nothing to his demand knowing she'd keep the babe as long as possible. She was saddened to see his older sons rejecting the child the same as her husband and vowed that her daughter, older than the infant by mere months, would see past the misfortune of his face.

Within the week, the midwife visited the Giry household for news on the child's progress. Lord Francis had buried his young wife while condemning the child whom he claimed died in infancy. He refused to have anything to do with the boy and so it was left up to the midwife and the wetnurse to name him. Cecile, feeling quite uncharitable towards the man who'd sired the child, bestowed upon him the name he should have been given at birth. Erik St. John de Lune. The midwife brought the elderly priest over to bless the child and record the birth into the church's books. No matter how much the master of the house denied that his son still lived, the proof was written. Both ladies thought it fitting since the man had turned his back on his own child.

_1857_

As the train pulled into the station, Christine remembered that day so long ago when the crowded platform had caused her such discomfort and temptation. Seven years had passed since that day; a mere blink of time's eye in the life of a vampire and yet she felt as if she'd lived for twice that long. She'd been a child when she'd met Julien, perhaps not in age but in maturity, and he had been the most beautiful and alluring creature she'd ever met. Her heart and soul had answered his call and she never regretted their time together. She was, in fact, dreading the day he would leave this world and pass through the Final Transition of true death. She knew she'd be bereft without him. And yet…

And yet deep inside, she wondered about this new human whose soul called to hers. Julien knew of her feelings, of course he did. She could hide nothing from the elder vampire and never wished to. Christine just wished the knowledge of this other human didn't tease her so; she felt utterly wretched for thinking of him (or her, she added silently thinking of St. Claire) while with her beloved mate. It felt like a betrayal of the worst kind. She summoned a smile when he returned with their bags and escorted her to the carriage though he could feel her sadness and self-condemnation.

"Little One," Julien gently wove his fingers with hers while keeping his voice low enough to prevent the driver from overhearing, "please don't do this to yourself. If we were to have only one mate in our entire existence imagine how lonely that would be for someone like myself, who's seen the passage of nearly 300 summers, or the Count, who saw the march of time for over half a century." When she would have protested, he laid a finger over her lips to stop her words. "No, listen to me, Christine. As much as I love you, as much as my soul is complete now that you are by my side and bonded, I would never wish for you to live the rest of your existence alone. Don't create sorrow for yourself or feel unnecessary guilt. Let us enjoy our time together, be it a month, a decade, or a century."

"Thank you." Christine wrapped her arms tightly around him. "You always know what to say to set me straight."

"Of course I do. I'm your elder after all." Try as he might, Julien couldn't maintain the arrogant self-important air and the couple dissolved into laughter feeling at peace for the first time in months.

Once they'd settled into their home and met with the groundskeeper who'd been watching over the estate, they began making extremely discreet inquiries for sympathetic staff. They were reluctant to release the loyal groundsman but were uncomfortable with having an employee who was unaware of their…peculiarities when it came to the livestock. Julien met with the man in the study to provide him with a comfortable severance and an excellent reference. He was completely amazed when the human announced quite plainly that he knew what they were the same as he'd known the truth of St. Claire.

"And what, exactly, is it that you think we are, Monsieur Träm?" Julien's tone was all that was polite yet there was something dangerous in his eyes now that he perceived a potential threat to himself and his mate.

"Well, sir, I don't rightly know what you call it but I've seen the Count make his visits to the pens. I must say that I was mighty relieved to see that he wasn't doing what I'd first thought. He never seemed to harm the beasts; in fact, he was careful of their well-being." Augustus Träm spun his hat around in his hands when Julien arched one perfect brow to encourage him to get to the point. "Anyway. One night after the old Count had left the pens, I snuck in to look at the cattle. They all seemed fine except one that had a couple of puncture wounds on a shaved patch of skin near a large vein. At first I thought I was crazy and imagining things but he kept coming back every so often and I was finally able to actually see what he was doing one night. I put two and two together and came up with vampire."

"I see." Julien's crystal blue eyes bored into the human's while seeking any thoughts of treachery in his mind. "What did you do with your information once you'd arrived at your conclusion?"

"Do, sir?" The man scratched the back of his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Who did you tell? Surely you didn't keep the news of a monster in your midst from the rest of the village." The elder vampire sat forward and his blue eyes were rimmed with a hint of red.

"Monster? Sir, I've seen the town drunk do more harm than Count St. Claire. The Count was always polite to the ladies, settled his accounts with the merchants in a timely manner, and was always ready with a 'how do you do' or to lend a hand to someone in need no matter their station in life. Ol' Franklin drinks his grocery money away, gets into brawls every Sabbath, and there's rumors he even forced himself on poor Miss Lucy who hasn't been right in the head since she was kicked by that mare. Now, sir, tell me…which one would you call a monster?"

Impressed, Julien sat back to observe the simple farmer who seemed far wiser than he would have believed possible. If he hadn't brought the village down on St. Claire then it was doubtful he'd gather the torches and pitchforks after Christine and himself. Praying he wasn't making a grave error, he stood with a smile and offered his hand to the groundskeeper. The relief in the old man's eyes gave him a twinge of guilt; was it that hard to find gainful employment in the village. Motioning for him to take a seat, Julien questioned him about the situation in the village. Pleased to learn the new owners wished to become involved as much as, if not more than, the Count, Augustus explained how the growth of Stockholm had drawn many of the young men and women away from the farms and family trades until things were looking mighty grim for those who remained. Thinking on what Augustus had told him, he called Christine to bring coffee for their human guest and join them in discussing ways to help the people in this place they'd claimed for their home.

Finding house staff proved to be a harder task as they needed humans who were already aware of their kind and their habits. It took several months, in fact, but they agreed on an older married couple – Wolfgang and Heidi Rüb – whose daughter was an unbonded mate of a vampire who'd seen less than half of Julien's years. The interview was awkward at first, with neither party willing to speak plainly for fear of the consequences if they were wrong, and it was Christine who finally smoothed away potential misunderstandings to discover the truth. After that, it was a simple task to explain their duties and the unique complications that could arise; however, the couple was intelligent and eager to understand. With staff in place, they replaced the sign that had alerted them to the house all those years ago. It was time for them to repay St. Claire's kindness by bestowing it upon others in need.

* * *

_A/N: Erik! Yes, he may just be an infant but at least he's finally arrived lol I juggled things around for my own amusement and placed Madame Giry early in the tale but Erik's life won't always be sunshine and roses. Michel isn't exactly welcoming him with open arms._


	6. Chapter 6

_1859_

At first, reintegrating with the human population had been an unusual and amusing experiment for the couple. Christine enjoyed attending Mass once more and singing with the choir while Julien made certain to be seen at the local tavern every so often. The size of the estate was larger than they'd first believed and they commissioned several simple but sturdy cottages to be built along the outskirts. Augustus was an intelligent, trust-worthy man so they put him in charge of hiring the workers, stressing to him that they wanted local laborers only. That year, they encouraged the village to host a harvest festival where they could barter, sell, or trade their excess goods for what they needed. Anything hand made was encouraged and Christine, along with the pastor's wife, even arranged for prizes for those who wished to compete. The festival lasted for three days and went a long way in building the relationship between them and the villagers. Good times, however, do not always last.

Winter was brutal in the year 1859; it arrived early and dropped more snow on the ground than even the oldest amongst the humans could remember. Julien was often out with the men chopping firewood or closing up drafts in some of the older houses. At night, he'd come in, feed, bathe, and collapse into bed and sleep until dawn only to start all over again. Christine worried about him as he'd never gotten tired before and sometimes went days without sleep. She prayed she'd not lose him yet; she wasn't ready to be all alone. In order to avoid dwelling on the inevitable, she threw herself into helping the women of the village make quilts and winter cloaks for those who couldn't afford them. Everyone pitched in scraps of cloth for even the smallest amount was useful. Therefore, both were away from their home when a visitor arrived just after dusk. The man appeared to be nothing more than a beggar, with ragged clothing, worn out boots, and a cloak that bore more holes than cloth, but he'd seen the mark that glowed in welcome. Wolfgang, the butler, granted him admittance into the sitting room where a fire crackled warmly. With a few discreet questions, the housekeeper brought their guest a warm glass of sheep's blood while the butler searched for clothing to replace the man's rags.

Christine was the first to arrive home that night as Julien was in the village tavern after helping patch a hole in an elderly human's roof. The smell struck her first; tempting, tantalizing, coppery, delicious blood. And not just any blood, _human_ blood. Even as her heart lurched in worry for the servants, she could feel her fangs react to the alluring scent. The foyer gave her no clues but the scent grew stronger the further inside the house she went. As she approached the sitting room, she was nearly overwhelmed; her fangs had lengthened painfully and her vision had grown sharper, clearer. She wanted to feed. Now! And she wanted to feed on the human whose blood was tormenting her. Fighting against her very nature, Christine entered the room to the site of a slaughter. Heidi lay slumped over a chair, her clothes ripped from her body and her throat torn out. There were other wounds covering the elderly human and the chair, floor, and body were drenched in blood. From her skin's pallor, none of that blood remained inside the kind woman. A long bloody trail led out the glass doors and into the small garden that stood between the house and the feeding pens. Following it with her heart in her throat, Christine found Wolfgang hanging from a meat hook that'd been tied around a stout tree branch. His body was so badly mutilated that, had it not been for his scent, she'd not have known who he was. Desperately, she cried for Julien to come home and prayed he'd hear her.

The tavern was as noisy as ever and it never failed to hurt his sensitive ears. The rare trips were necessary, he thought, to maintain good relations with the men in the village and he did enjoy the company on most nights. Something about this one, however, bothered him. He'd been jittery all night which had caused him to be short tempered while working on the roof. That was why he'd joined the men instead of going home to rest and spend time with his mate. The longer he stayed, the more the feeling grew until he heard Christine's frantic cry in his head. Giving only the briefest of explanations, Julien sped from the tavern. Once he was in the dark sheltering shadows, he ran with preternatural speed for his estate and his love. As he burst into the sitting room, he was no less horrified than she when he saw the condition of his servants. Enveloping her in his arms, he could feel her control over her hunger slipping. Hoping to put some space between her and temptation, he sent her to the pens to find Augustus.

Julien surveyed the destroyed room with a critical eye. He'd send the groundskeeper for the constable but first needed to ensure there was nothing damning in the room or on the bodies. His stomach turned at the condition of poor Heidi; her attacker had been unnecessarily brutal. Her head hung awkwardly on a thin strip of flesh since the spine had been severed. There were puncture wounds on her inner thighs and breasts but the killer had ripped through her flesh so violently that at first they resembled knife wounds. Just as he was about to go into the garden to inspect Wolfgang, he spied the crystal wine glass under the settee. Holding it gingerly, Julien sniffed the contents and growled. Those weren't just puncture wounds; they were fang marks. His hospitality had been abused in the worst possible way.

Continuing into the garden, he noted that the butler had suffered an even worse fate than his wife. Hanging by his wrists from a hook tied to a tree branch, there were long, vicious furrows torn deep into the flesh of his arms, legs, and stomach. From the awkward angle he was hanging, Julien guessed that the man had been beaten severely enough to have most of his useful bones shattered prior to the mutilation of his body. Again, there was evidence of a vampire attack but only if one knew what to look for. Satisfied that their lives would not be compromised by the constable, he met Christine and Augustus at the end of the path to the feeding pens and sent him into the village.

"Little One, will you be alright?" He gently wiped a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth before caressing her cheek.

"I think so, Julien. It was just so…strong and unexpected when I got home…"

"I didn't mean your Hunger, my love, I meant seeing…" He gestured behind him even while keeping himself between her and the gruesome sight. With some relief, the elder vampire noticed that her eyes had returned to their normal, human looking, brown color and her fangs had completely receded. "You took the opportunity to feed before alerting Augustus?"

"I had to," Christine whispered, ashamed. "I couldn't come back here and risk being tempted. They were our friends! Why was I even remotely entertaining the thought of feeding off them?"

"Oh Christine, the pull of human blood is the strongest and the hardest to deny. It gives us greater strength, speed, keen hearing and excellent eyesight than any animal's but it steals more than it gives. It robs us of our ability to walk in the sun, of our remaining shreds of humanity, and eventually even our sanity. There is a reason why only newlings are fed the blood of humans and only under careful supervision. It is more addicting than opium and morphine combined…and just as deadly." He kissed her tenderly on her forehead. "I am very proud of you for being able to resist it. You are an amazing creature for one so young, my beautiful mate."

Julien led her around the outside of the house to await the constable on the front stoop. Christine had only barely mastered her Hunger; he wouldn't tempt her again by bringing her inside. They didn't have to wait long before the constable's carriage rolled up the drive. A tall, stout man, Constable Wilhem Robert was strong and intelligent for a human and Julien respected the fairness in which he doled out his punishments. He played no favorites, dispensing justice equally amongst friends or enemies, and was highly regarded in the small village. Nothing he'd ever seen equaled the brutality of the attack on the Montforts' servants and it was some moments before he'd mastered his nausea at their condition.

The constable walked through the front door into the sitting room, following the probable last steps of the couple and the unknown killer. He noted several observations that he wished to discuss with the Montforts even before approaching the housekeeper's body. The cutting and ripping of flesh on the woman's upper thighs and breasts indicated a sexual predator as well as a killer. Proceeding on to the butler, he noticed that the wounds were far more brutal than on the woman as if he'd tried to fight back. Nothing appeared to be missing, though he'd ask the couple to confirm, which ruled out burglary as a motive. Either the murderer was simply an opportunistic killer or this was a case of vengeance. Could there be something in their past that was catching up to them?

About an hour later, Constable Robert finished his notes on the crime scene and joined the Montforts in their kitchen. Christine had made both coffee and tea, using the preparations to take her mind off the two bodies of their friends. She poured him some coffee while she and Julien took a cup of tea and waited for the questions the constable would have. Most were routine as he asked how well they knew the couple prior to hiring them, had they had any problems with people from the village or surrounding area, or if they knew of anyone who'd want to hurt them by killing their staff. All questions were answered truthfully while giving aid to the investigation.

"Monsieur Montfort, I'm sure you noticed that the door had not been forced nor was there any damage in the foyer. Who would your housekeeper had allowed into the house while you were not in residence?"

"Heidi was given instructions to provide aid to any who asked, Constable." Julien rested his chin in his hand while the other idly stirred the rapidly cooling tea. "With such a harsh winter, I couldn't bear to think of someone becoming a victim to the elements when we have a warm hearth and plenty of rooms besides. I suppose I was naïve to believe no one would abuse my generosity."

"An honorable sentiment, Monsieur. You say you were both from home when this occurred. Might I ask what you were doing and where you were? I do apologize but it's standard procedure." The Constable looked embarrassed but both knew he was only doing his job to the best of his abilities.

"I was with the ladies in the rectory stitching up coats and quilts to aid those in need, Monsieur. Julien was helping to repair Madame LaRoche's roof and restock her supply of firewood." Christine answered softly while rising to pour the Constable another cup of coffee.

"Exactly, my dear, and afterwards I went with the gentlemen to share a mug at the tavern before realizing the time and came rushing home. I wish I'd foregone the drink altogether now."

"I see. I noticed a suit of clothing on the settee in the sitting room. Is it yours, Monsieur?"

"Yes, Wolfgang has…had standing orders to procure dry clothing for the guests if any were in danger of becoming ill from the cold and damp. I keep a chest full of a variety of sizes for just such a purpose if you'd like to see?"

"No, no. That won't be necessary, thank you. Will you need the coroner to come for the…erm…for them or the priest?"

"The priest, if you please, Monsieur," Christine smiled weakly. "Heidi and Wolfgang were faithful attendees of the local church."

The Constable rose signaling the end of the meeting and the couple walked him to the front. They spoke for a short while longer before he climbed into his carriage and made his way back to his home. None believed he'd ever capture the one responsible; however, Julien was determined to do so. No one injures what is his…especially in his own home.

_1864_

Erik grew rapidly in a household filled with equal parts love and hatred. Cecile and her young daughter, Marguerite, doted on the shy child with the golden eyes; Michel and his sons from a previous marriage, François and Armand, refused to be in the same room as the devil's spawn. When Erik was walking by four months, talking in full sentences in less than a year, and playing the piano by the time he was three, Michel used his skills as proof of the influence of evil inside the boy. He compared the prodigy with their own Marguerite who was progressing at a slower, more normal, rate. Still Cecile remained firm about raising the child and the wedge in their marriage, introduced when she returned from the mansion with the infant, drove them further and further apart. The household became a ticking time bomb; everyone knew it would some day blow and change everything irrevocably but they all equally hoped it would happen a long time in the future. Unfortunately, it came in the summer of Erik's eighth year.

It had not been a good year for the Giry family. There had been a drought which caused crops to fail all over the county. Michel, who had begun to drink heavily, blamed the young Erik for the loss of their crops. He would beat the child whenever Cecile was away from the house and forced him to wear a mask at all times to hide the proof of his demonic heritage. It didn't help the superstitious man that the boy's intelligence seemed almost otherworldly. When the well's pump broke, the child knew they couldn't afford to bring someone in to repair it; that night he stayed awake and, by moonlight and candlelight, not only fixed the pump but improved upon its design and performance. Michel had found him the next morning, tools still in hand, curled up asleep beside the now-functioning pump. Frightened that a boy of eight was so intelligent, he cornered Cecile in the sitting room that night after supper with an ultimatum.

"Wife, I've been patient and tolerant but you must see that this can't continue." Michel poured himself a large glass of brandy which only served to irritate his wife. They'd had to forego several grocery items and yet her husband still managed to find the coin for spirits. "That…thing is old enough to get a job as a sweep and still small enough to be a climbing boy. He's been weaned for years. You're duties to Lord Francis are over."

"Erik is not a thing, _husband_, but a young child. You wouldn't throw little Marguerite to the whims of fate like you seem so eager to do to my son. Haven't you heard him play or sing? He'll be a famous musician someday; he doesn't need to destroy his lungs with soot and ash."

"I don't listen to the demon seed when he plays his evil music and neither should you!" Michel threw the glass across the room where it shattered against the hearth. "He will slit our throats in the night, drink our blood, and steal our souls. He must leave before he kills us all in our sleep!"

Cecile could only stare at her spouse in shock. She'd had no idea he'd thought such evil things about the sweet, polite child and it frightened her to think of what he'd do to boy. Still, she couldn't abandon Erik; it was doubtful he'd find anyone else to care for him as did she and her little Meg. "No. You are being foolish, Michel, as well as drunk. Erik is but a child…"

"He's a child alright, the child of Satan himself! If he isn't gone by the end of the week, woman, I am removing my sons from his evil influence."

"You wouldn't dare...!"

"It is your choice, Cecile. My sons and I or that creature…"

Outside the small sitting room, Erik and his sister Meg listened to the argument with tears in their eyes. The yelling scared the young girl and she clung to her brother as all she'd known was crumbling. Erik held his sister and tried to comfort her but inside, he was as shattered as she if not more so. He knew they were fighting about him. Again. He didn't understand why the only man he'd ever known as his father hated him so much. He knew his face frightened people but why would his own family fear him? As he heard Michel give his mother the ultimatum, he knew he could never allow her to choose between him and her family. Quietly sending Meg to bed with promises of a story later, Erik retreated to his room and wrote a couple of short letters to both his mother and sister. Gathering a few sets of clothing, he silently entered the kitchen, packed half a wheel of cheese and a baguette, and left his home.

Remaining hidden in the trees, he shunned the village knowing that many of them bore the same opinion as did Michel. Only when his sister came looking for him did he realize that he'd have to leave Rouen in order to grant them peace. Erik called to her and asked her to do him a favor. Little Meg, wanting only please the brother she looked up to, readily agreed. Together, they walked around the outskirts of town until they came upon a gypsy fair that had arrived a week prior. Erik approached and spoke quietly to a hard, cruel looking man who seemed to be in charge. After several minutes of negotiations, they settled their business and the boy returned to his sister. Kissing her cheek, he handed Meg a small pouch and an envelope instructing her to give both to their mother and her alone. Erik didn't let the tears fall until she was out of sight. When the gypsy's large hand wrapped harshly around his thin upper arm, he didn't fight. For his mother's peace of mind, he'd sold himself to the caravan so that she'd never have to choose.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to all who read and review!_


	7. Chapter 7

_1864_

Erik stood unseen in the back of the tent while Marco the Magnificent practiced his routine. The young boy's keen eyes had spotted the tricks behind most of the illusions so far but there were still some he'd not yet figured out. He'd already asked Marco if he could apprentice under him but the 'magician' was both superstitious as well as protective of his abilities. He wanted nothing to do with the child that bore the face of a demon, the voice of an angel, and an intelligence surpassing any he'd ever known before. The illusionist knew that, should he take the boy on as an apprentice, he'd be out of a job within a year or two at the most. Something needed to be done with the little freak to teach him his place.

When Marco started packing up to prepare for that night's show, Erik slipped quietly from the tent and back to his own. He stared at his costume with distaste; split down the middle, it represented heaven and hell, angel and devil. He'd only been with the caravan a month when he picked up a discarded violin and played one of the popular melodies he'd heard every night he'd been with the gypsies. Now, he played for the coins people would throw while the girls danced. They, too, were dressed as one or the other: virginal white costumes with flowing lace and feathered wings attached to their backs or sultry, seductive red costumes that barely covered the girls' bodies as they lured and teased money from the patrons who wandered by. Erik would walk behind them as he played and, depending on which side he showed the audience, encouraged one or the other to take the lead in the dance. Towards the end of the show, the seductresses would pick a customer for the night to entertain privately and, with the angels remaining, he would sing as they danced around him. It was a good show that made a modest amount of coins. He was thankful to no longer be cleaning in the kitchens and that he'd yet to have to remove the mask that covered his face.

It was the last show before they left for warmer, more southerly climates when Marco put his plan in motion. Erik was playing while the dancers coaxed money from the men who'd come to ogle them. A sudden flash of light and puff of smoke temporarily blinded him and he felt someone pull the hood from his head and rip off his mask. As his vision returned, he heard the screams from the dancers as well as the shouts of horror from the audience.

"Behold! I, Marco the Magnificent, have revealed the demon in our midst. This creature, this child of the Devil, has hidden his true nature from you all long enough. For your safety and the safety of your wives and children, I say we cage the demon to protect us from his wrath!"

Erik struggled to get free but Marco's grasp on his thin arm was painfully tight. A cage was rolled into the tent by the magician's assistant and the young boy was harshly thrown inside. A large padlock was placed on the door and clicked shut. The audience, who'd backed away in horror at the boy's face, now surged forward to insult and taunt him. They found rotten fruit outside the tent and returned to throw them at the terrified child. Marco prodded him with his cane and demanded that Erik show his face to those he'd tried to enslave. When he refused, Marco hit him with the sturdy wooden stick. Still Erik defied him so the illusionist beat him until he fell unconscious from the pain and shock. Ripping off his robes until the boy was left with nothing but his thin trousers, the gypsy threw a rough burlap sack into the cage along with a bit of crusty bread and a small amount of water. Grinning at his triumph, Marco escorted the customers from the tent and replaced the sign over the entrance to "Devil's Child – the boy with half a face!"

_1865_

Spring had begun to peek through the snow filled village just outside of Stockholm but still there had been no word as to who had killed the Montfort's servants. Julien had made certain that the couple wouldn't make the Transition since that had been their wishes and they were now buried in a small mausoleum just off the path from the garden. The Rüb's daughter, Melisande, and her unbonded mate, Jöchen Heinrich, arrived a month after the couple's death and a small ceremony was held for them. Together, the two elders pooled their resources and began to search for the one responsible. The first tulips had begun to blossom when they finally got a lead on the killer.

The newspapers from Stockholm arrived once a week as a large bundle. Though this meant those at the Montfort home were a tad behind on events there, rarely had there been anything of note to make them wish to switch to the costlier daily deliveries. The men were sipping a glass of warmed sheep's blood and reading in front of the fire when Jöchen gave a startled exclamation. Three murders over the course of a few days had been reported and all bore striking similarities as the attacks on the Rübs. The men noted the addresses of those killed and moved as one to their rooms to pack. Finally, they were closer to removing a dangerous vampire from their midst.

"Julien, my love," Christine held onto the bed post and watched her lover pack an overnight bag, "I don't want you to go to Stockholm. I have an awful feeling about this…"

"Shh, it will be alright, Little One," pulling his mate into his arms, he kissed her cheeks and forehead before brushing his lips across hers. We should be gone no more than a week or two at the most. This creature has to be stopped, my love. He could endanger us all with his Hunger and carelessness."

"I know, beloved," snuggling closer, Christine held him close, unable to shake the feeling that she wouldn't be seeing her mate again. "I worry for you, that's all. Return to me swiftly, Julien, for I shall ache each moment we're apart."

The elder ran his fingers along her spine and read her fears that she tried to hide. He couldn't deny that she might very well be correct; he'd felt the weariness close in on him ever sense she'd sensed her new mate. Though he hated to be separated from her knowing how little time they had left, Julien had to avenge his friends. So, he simply held her and murmured the usual loving platitudes and prayed that they were both wrong as to how this would all end. When Jöchen called from the doorway, he tilted her face to his and gazed down to imprint her beauty on his memory. Leaning forward, he kissed her long and tenderly. In his kiss was every ounce of love and happiness, sadness and regret, every hello and every goodbye. They both knew he'd not be returning and it tore at their hearts. With a final caress, Julien left the room with his bag, leaving Christine standing with blood-red tears sliding down her cheeks. She didn't go to the front to watch him leave; she couldn't bear it. As the door closed, she collapsed on the bed she'd shared with her mate and sobbed out her sorrow and loneliness.

_1874_

An autumn chill hovered in the Parisian air as a young widow exited the carriage onto the Rue de Rivoli. Nine years had passed since Julien's Final Transition and Christine still felt the pain of the loss. In the beginning, the increased pull of the new mate angered her. She didn't want to even consider another when her love had so recently left her forever and so she'd resisted its call for as long as she could. First there had been Julien's death and cremation. She'd traveled to that same beach of so many years before and mingled his ashes with the water as the sun arose. She had a feeling he'd like being reunited with the Count and his mate. Then, she refused to travel in the dead of winter citing icy rails and scarce food. And finally, there was the war that had marched on Paris; none could fault her for not wanting to risk the allure of freshly killed and bleeding bodies, right? Now, however, the Commune had fallen and Paris was in a state of renewal and Christine could resist the pull no longer. She closed the estate for the winter and purchased a small townhouse.

Her first order of business was, of course, securing a food source. There were many stockyards inside Paris but she was hoping for something a little more…refined. They would do for a while, however, until she found something a bit cleaner. Not certain of the protocol, for Julien never did get around to explaining all the strange traditions during their years together, Christine sent calling cards to the homes which bore signs of welcome and aid. Through her new acquaintances, she found a more palatable feeding house as well as an establishment that catered only to vampires. Similar to the gentlemen's clubs of London, such as White's or Boodle's, Le Rossignol kept out unwanted humans by being exclusively 'member's only.' Being a beautiful, young creature, she was quite popular amongst the members and spent many nights playing cards or simply enjoying the company after so many lonely years. So immersed was she in her newly-found social life that she almost forgot the reason she was in Paris. Almost.

Beneath the Académie Nationale de Musique, a masked youth completed the pump system that would divert the Lake Averne away from the foundations of the opera house. Packing away his tools, he walked towards what appeared to be a solid wall, pressed a specific rock, and stepped back as the wall pivoted silently on a hidden mechanism. The man once known as Erik St. John de Lune closed the door behind him and lit a lantern to easier navigate the way to his home. It had taken him years to be free of the gypsy caravan; years of jeers and screams and beatings that never seemed to end. Every day for the first month, he asked Marco why he'd done such a thing. The illusionist never did answer for he knew it would give the boy a hold over him. Four long and painful years passed before he had a chance for both escape and answers. Only when the rope had tightened around his neck had the illusionist confessed that he'd recognized Erik's potential and felt threatened by it. Disgusted, the boy quickly snapped the neck of his chief tormentor and fled into the city.

Touching another cleverly disguised button, Erik entered the sparse sitting room he'd carved from the rock beneath the theater being built by Garnier. He tossed his tools onto a table and grabbed a glass and the decanter of brandy. At first glance, he was every inch a man of the world. Elegant of dress and manners with a thin, wiry frame that hid his strength, he towered over most men at well over six feet. His face betrayed his age, however, for the left side that wasn't hidden by the white, porcelain mask was smooth and unblemished. It was his eyes that appeared old. Golden brown, they swirled with anger, hatred, and despair at a world that held nothing but contempt for him since the day of his birth. Tossing back the drink, he removed the mask and rubbed a tender spot on his deformed cheek; he would have to fix that soon or risk infection. After escaping the caravan, Erik had traveled the world looking for some place to live without fear of others. After only a year in Persia, he was again forced to flee due to the royal family's keen interest in his face and skills. He'd arrived in Paris only a month after the commune had been routed and secured a job with Charles Garnier after showing him a portfolio of his work. Together, they'd built the opera house though even his partner never knew of the rooms secreted beneath the stone. After years of dodging the hatred and scorn of humanity, Erik was thoroughly sick of it all and wished for nothing more than to live out his days in peace. Taking a sip from his glass, he scowled when the door swung open and revealed the only living soul who knew of his sanctuary.

"What do you want, Daroga?" Erik's beautiful voice had become as cultured and elegant as his mode of dress and the lissomness of his walk. Underneath the beauty, however, there was a distinct hint of steel that warned his friend that his patience was limited.

"I've come only to bring your groceries, my friend, and see how you fare in this cold, damp cellar." The Persian man had donned western clothing for the shopping trip after finding the prices to be much better than when he wore his traditional clothing and the chill in the room penetrated the many layers that made up the fashion for these westerners. "Have you gotten the fireplace working yet, Erik?"

"No. I'm waiting for the opera's furnaces to be completed." His golden eyes followed the older man into the pantry and watched as he placed the items on the shelves within. The kitchen was one of the first areas he'd completed and was far better equipped than most in Paris. He'd even managed to divert a small amount of the icy water from the underground lake through the pantry so that the things that needed to be cold remained so.

"You know I have a spare bedroom, Erik. Why don't you stay there until you can get some heat in this place? This can't be good for you."

Erik sighed and poured another drink. Every week they had the same argument and every week the Persian returned to his apartments alone. Why did the fool continue to pester him about it? He wasn't meant to be part of the world of men; he'd learned that early in life when he'd taken money from a gypsy in order not to break a woman's heart. He sighed heavily as he thought of Cecile and Marguerite Giry. He hoped the war with the Prussians and the mess with the Commune hadn't affected them and that they were still living happily in that little cottage in Rouen.

"I remain so I can work on my home when the other workers have left for the day. You know this, Daroga, so why do you continue to pester me so?" Erik watched the dark-skinned man close the pantry doors and sit in the chair across from him.

"I pester you, as you call it, because remaining in this dark, cold, damp place is unhealthy."

"Unhealthy? So, what do you suggest, Daroga, a small house along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées? I'm sure the neighbors would just love living next to a monster." The Persian winced at the sarcasm in the young man's voice. He was far too young to hold such anger and despair and total hatred for humanity.

"You are not a monster, Erik." His quiet statement was left unanswered except for a single, unflattering snort of disbelief. He decided to try another tactic. "What will you do once the opera house is completed?"

"I shall live out my days in peace I hope." The look he gave his companion made it clear as to what, or rather who, was currently preventing that from occurring. "Beyond that…?" Erik shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "Who knows? Every good opera house should have a ghost, should it not?" The masked man's laughter was far from joyous and sent a shiver of dread down the older man's spine. Feeling he'd tested his host's limits enough, he rose and repeated his offer of the guest room. When there was no reply, he simply bowed and left his troubled friend staring into the unlit fireplace.

Alone once more, Erik sighed and sat back in the chair. He knew his Persian friend meant well but the world above was not for the likes of him. And yet…there was something that had drawn him to Paris. He'd thought it was the opportunity to once again work in the field of architecture and build beautiful things instead of structures with no soul and little dignity. He'd enjoyed working with Charles Garnier; after the first meeting, the man never again looked at the mask and had never asked about it either. He'd felt more human in that moment than ever before. Then construction started and the workers couldn't seem to _stop_ looking at it which put him securely back in his place. That was when he began working on his home and connecting the rooms to the Communard's tunnels. However, even while working on the opera house, he still felt this strange pull. His sleep, when it wasn't filled with nightmares of his life before, held dreams of the vague figure of a girl who called to him. The longing to be with her was so strong that he began to see the dreams as just more nightmares for they showed him what could never be. Throwing the glass into the hearth where it shattered most satisfactorily, Erik stood and retrieved his tools. If he was only going to dwell on unpleasant things, he might as well work while he was doing so.

Time and seasons marched on in the Paris above but Erik paid them little heed. The opera house was complete and there were talks of a gala to celebrate the grand opening of the _Académie Nationale de Musique - Théâtre de l'Opéra_. Charles had been trying to convince his partner to attend opening night with him but to no avail. The masked man had grown comfortable in his solitary home, away from the condemning stares of others, and had no interest in exposing himself in such a way. He told the architect to enjoy the accolades of his peers; he'd received all he needed already. Charles' steady look and nod of acceptance had Erik wondering if the man knew of the tunnels beneath the opera house but nothing was said concerning them. They met for the last time atop the grand building they'd created; Erik in his usual black evening suit and Charles in grey and silver for the premiere. The pair remained silent for some time simply gazing out at the lights of the city. In that silence was all the conversation that'd ever been needed between the two. They each held a vast amount of respect and fondness for the other but realized that it was unlikely for their paths to cross again. At the sound of the orchestra warming up for the night's performance, Erik shook the hand of the only man who'd ever treated him as an equal and disappeared from the rooftop like a ghost. Charles remained only a few more moments wishing things could be different for the brilliant young man.

* * *

_Académie Nationale de Musique - Théâtre de l'Opéra_ - this is the official name of the opera house built by Charles Garnier and what would have been used during that time. Unofficially, it was known as the Paris Opera or the Garnier, after the architect.

Avenue des Champs-Élysées - during this time period, this street was home of the ultra-elite. Most nobles from France and England had homes on the street that were normally used only during the "Season" when all of the balls and parties took place. They would then retire to their country estates during the height of the summer as Paris wasn't pleasant at the time. Summer heat + open sewers = yucky. lol


	8. Chapter 8

_1875_

Watching the performance from the flies, Erik was satisfied that all was well in the theater. Charles had received the praise he was due and the gala was insanely extravagant making it an absolute success. He'd planned to be gone from the public areas before the opera had begun but something, that same longing, held him in place. Golden eyes scanned the crowds trying to find the invisible thread that was holding him there. A young woman, no older than he, sat in the best private box in the house: Box Five. She was a stunningly beautiful creature with long brown curls that fell in riotous glory down her back. Her companion, a pale older man, was patting her hand and whispering in her ear something that made her laugh. Erik scowled at the thought that she was just another whore and wondered why it made him so angry. Leaving the beautiful girl and her elderly lover behind, he made his way to the bowels of the opera house to where he'd left a single packed suitcase. Now that his work here was complete, he wanted to see if Cecile or Marguerite remained in Rouen and if they were well. Elegantly twirling his cloak into place, he sat a broad brimmed black fedora upon his head to hide the mask and made his way to the Rue Scribe entrance he'd recently completed.

In her box, Christine felt a shiver of anticipation run down her spine. _He's here!_ She nearly shouted aloud, so great was the pull of her mate. She eagerly scanned the guests in hopes of spotting the one whose soul called out to hers so desperately. In the ten years since she'd lost her Julien, she'd come to terms with the idea of another mate; even going so far as to anticipate the meeting. Though she had plenty of friends, both human and otherwise, her heart longed to be with another with the same depth of feeling as it had with her first lover - if not deeper. She looked over at Jean-Paul, an elderly human for whom she felt a sort of sisterly affection, and sighed softly. He'd asked her to the opera in the hopes she'd agree to yet another proposal of marriage. Christine had finally explained that, though she'd not seen him in a few years, her heart belonged to another and it simply wouldn't be fair. He seemed to understand and still insisted they attend on the grounds of friendship. She was grateful that he never asked the name of her beloved as she was still a terrible liar. Her companion leaned over to whisper to her of the uncanny similarities between the leading soprano and an angry cat and she couldn't help but laugh at the apt description. By intermission, she no longer felt her mate and wondered why he'd left the opera so early.

The Persian had accompanied Erik to Rouen, proving quite useful in procuring transportation, lodging, and meals along the way. The further from Paris they traveled, however, the more uncomfortable his foreign friend became. At a small inn where they were to eat dinner and rest the horses, he finally cornered the man and demanded an explanation.

"Daroga, what have you been planning?"

"Erik," he wondered just how much to reveal to his young friend before deciding on the truth. Perhaps the lad will survive if he knew what he was getting into. "Three days ago I received a letter from the Shah. He demands your return to Persia." A raised brow was Erik's only response; this would not be easy. "I have been tasked to ensure that you do so by any means necessary."

The silence in the small room was far worse than any ranting the masked man could have done. The Persian risked much by telling him the contents of the letter but, even though it was an unconventional friendship, he was still Erik's friend and felt he owed him that much. He wished he could report that the man had died during construction of the opera house or something similar but knew that was impossible. Unless he was mistaken, their carriage driver was an agent of the Shah and would report the lie immediately.

"What hold does he have over you?" The quiet question hung in the room while the foreigner contemplated his reply. "Does he threaten your family? Your wife and child?" The daroga let his shoulders droop and nodded. He kept his eyes averted so Erik couldn't see the anger and shame he felt for this betrayal. If it had just been his life at stake… "Very well. We shall leave at once."

The masked man rose, a graceful unfurling from the chair, and secured his cloak and hat into place. Tossing a few coins for the innkeeper onto the table, he motioned for his friend to precede him into the carriage. Outwardly, he showed no reaction to the news but inside he seethed with anger. He could find no fault with the Persian; he was only doing as he must to protect his family even if Erik highly doubted they still lived. The possibility was enough to keep the man loyal to the lunatic that held the throne. He smiled slightly at the thought of insisting the Shah produce his friend's family before agreeing to whatever twisted scheme had emerged from the man's madness.

They were one of the last couples to leave the gala and Christine was amused that Jean-Paul was quite obviously trying to get her drunk. Thankfully, alcohol no longer affected her and so she was still sober even after the several glasses of champagne she'd consumed during the night. The move she'd been expecting came as they were in the carriage. Jean-Paul reached over and placed an exploratory hand upon her upper thigh as he leaned in to kiss her bare neck. A metallic click was followed by an intense pain in his hand and he opened his lust-filled eyes to stare down the barrel of a small pistol just as he heard his finger pop out of joint.

"Now, Monsieur, that I have your attention. I wish to reiterate once more that I have no interest in a romantic relationship with you and even less interest in one of a sexual nature. I fear after your actions tonight I must also insist upon a cessation of our friendship. You will tell your driver to take me to my townhouse immediately or he will have the unpleasant task of cleaning your brains off this exquisite velvet upholstery. Do I make myself clear, Monsieur?"

Though Christine's hand and voice remained firm, inside she was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. She'd never had to utilize any kind of force in all of her years, living or undead, and she wasn't certain she could follow through on her threat. As long as he believed she would, however, everything would work out alright. Gulping audibly, the grey-haired gentleman tapped on the roof and informed his driver to take the lady home immediately. After he'd done so, Christine moved to the opposite seat and let the small pistol rest in her lap. It didn't go unnoticed by her companion that she kept a firm grip on it as well as pointed at him.

"You unnatural bitch!" Now that the shock had worn off, anger and pain were surging to the forefront. Even the most genteel of gentlemen reacted poorly to having a weapon trained on them, it seemed. "What the hell did you do to my hand?"

"I merely dislocated one of your fingers. If you grab the end and give it a sharp tug, it'll snap right back into place." She smiled humorlessly as she watched him try to determine if he wanted to make the attempt.

"Dunno what you're all fired up over," Jean-Paul muttered angrily as he cradled his injured hand. "Was just looking for a bit of fun; you owed it to me after leading me on all this time."

"I owed it to you?" Christine had never felt like hurting someone more than she did at that moment. Her eyes flashed a dangerous red as her anger built. "I informed you on more than one occasion that I was _not_ interested in anything more than friendship. How can you say I was leading you on?"

"You're a woman," the older man simply waved away her words like they were so much nonsense. "Women always say they're not interested when they are; they like to be chased."

"You insufferable boor! How dare you?" She could feel her fangs lengthening as her anger mounted; what she wouldn't give to simply rip his throat out and… Christine was shocked at where her thoughts were leading. She'd never been a violent person! Taking a deep and steadying breath in an effort to calm down and allow her fangs to retract, she leveled a glare at her companion. "Monsieur, you are gravely mistaken if you believe that all women purposefully deceive gentlemen as to their intentions and feelings. I do not lie and I especially don't toy with others' affections and desires. You have insulted me for believing otherwise and acted in a manner unbecoming a gentleman."

"Insulted you?" The look in the man's eyes disturbed her and she worried that she'd not leave the carriage without doing violence to the man. "You supercilious little slut, do you think I'm a fool? I know that you and Montfort were never married and yet you lived with him for years as his personal bedwarmer. I just wanted a taste of what he got and so obviously enjoyed." Jean-Paul's face contorted in an angry sneer as he let his eyes rove over her body. Christine shuddered and suddenly longed for a bath.

"You know nothing, Monsieur." She nearly wept with relief when the carriage came to a halt in front of her townhouse. "Do not call on me again. Good day." Hastily and with little grace, she exited the carriage while trying to block out his scathing insults. As she pulled the key from her reticule, she noticed a neighbor looking at her askance as the carriage pulled away. Christine murmured an apology for the noise, slipped inside, and bolted the door. Shaking terribly, she gently placed the pistol on the counter along with her reticule before hanging up her cloak. As she made for the bathroom to bathe away the feel of his eyes undressing her, she shuddered at the thought of meeting him again. Potential mate or not, perhaps it was time to leave Paris for a while.

It took three days to close up the townhouse, bid her friends at Le Rossignol a fond farewell, and secure a private car on a train to Moscow. She realized it wasn't ideal to travel alone but she had to get out of Paris and examine her uncharacteristic anger at Jean-Paul. Oh, she'd been angry before, even furious, but never had Christine felt such white-hot, searing hatred for someone to the point that she imagined what she had in the carriage. She knew what could happen to one of her kind if they started to consume the blood of humans. Dear God, she'd seen that first hand with Heidi and Wolfgang! So why did she have the urge at all? And why did she feel like she was letting down her mate the further away from Paris she traveled?

For the first time, Christine allowed her mind to tentatively touch her potential mate's and nearly recoiled at the seething rage and hatred she felt within him. This explained her reaction in the carriage; she'd always been empathetic with Julien's moods and emotions. She pondered her current course and whether she should return to actively seek out the soul that longed for hers. Curling up on the bed in the loneliness of the empty car, she longed to feel Julien beside her, holding her and telling her it would all work out in the end. For ten long years she'd been alone and she hated it as much now as she did the day he entered the Final Transition. She was not a strong woman. She knew it and accepted it. She needed a mate upon whose strength she could lean when things overwhelmed her as they did now. For all that she'd walked the earth over forty years, Christine was still very much that seventeen year old child who desperately longed for her father's love and acceptance. She could have had lovers, both human and vampire, for she was a beautiful creature with a naturally sunny disposition but she couldn't betray her mate that way. Oh why did she have to leave Paris? Hugging the pillow to her petite frame, she cried herself to sleep.

_1878_

For the next three years, Christine tried to make contact with her potential mate. Her loneliness ate at her and she longed to be with the one who called to her. She returned to Moscow and the Imperial Bolshoi Theatre posing as her own daughter in order to explain her lack of aging. Though she knew she could take on leading roles, she deliberately remained in the chorus preferring to focus her energy on locating her mate. She still felt the pull of his soul to hers yet it had become increasingly difficult to touch his mind. It was as if he'd closed off that part of him that called to her and tucked it away in a dark corner. Christine felt the loss as keenly as if he'd denied their bond and walked away forever. It was during this dark time that she met a youngling whose mate had been unexpectedly forced into the Final Transition not long after she'd returned to the sun. Tatiana Alekseyeva, a vivacious girl with red hair and emerald eyes as brilliant as her personality, was struggling to adjust to being alone so soon after her Transition. Christine, though not an elder by any stretch, understood her loss and took her under her wing. The youngling's parents still lived in Moscow so she agreed to stay for another year with the Imperial Bolshoi but insisted they leave the following spring. It simply wouldn't do to have humans questioning their ageless beauty.

"Christine?" Tasha, as she preferred her friends to call her, gazed over the railing of their villa at the gondolas as they were poled lazily down the canal. The train from Moscow to Venice was long and tedious and as distasteful to Tasha as it had been, and still was, to her older companion.

"Yes?" The brunette looked up from the newspaper detecting something in the youngling's voice that had her worried. "Is something wrong, Tasha?"

"Maybe?" Clearly uneasy, she moved into the villa to take a seat beside Christine on the settee. "What do you dream about at night? You toss and turn so in your sleep and your cries pull at my heart. Is there anything I can do?"

"Oh." Running a hand over her face and sighing, she wondered how to explain her nightmares of being trapped and feared and hated. "No, there is nothing you can do to ease my dreams, Little One. I have yet to find an explanation for them but I've been researching it as best I can. I've requested an audience with the Marchesa Eleonora De Laurentiis but have yet to receive a reply."

"The Ancient One?" Tasha's gasp brought back memories of Count St. Claire and Christine giggled softly. She'd since learned that he was one of the few who hadn't enjoyed the traditions and protocol that came with age and she missed him all the more for it.

"Yes, my youngling friend. The Ancient One. I confess I used my connection with an old friend, now gone, in the hopes that it would increase my chances of an audience."

"And you were right to do so."

Both ladies turned at the sound of the unknown voice and the butler apologized with a pained look on his face. Reassuring him that all was well, she dismissed him and turned to their unexpected guest. The vampire that stood before her was stunning. Had there ever been an ugly or even plain human who'd made the Transition? Christine's lips twitched at the thought but she controlled herself enough to drop a curtsy of respect. Tasha seemed to almost be in pain at the sheer presence that accompanied one of so many years as she dropped to one knee and bowed her head in the traditional greeting. The gesture so reminded her of Julien that she had to turn away swiftly lest she lose her composure before the Ancient One.

"You honor us with your presence, Marchesa De Laurentiis. Will you not take a seat?" Christine knew she risked insulting the ancient vampire but she had never been good at remembering the protocol Julien had tried so hard to teach her.

The Marchesa, a tall woman with proud bearing, gracefully moved to the chaise and draped herself over it. Her gown was of the latest fashion and there were rubies woven into her dark black hair that winked in the sunlight with every movement of her head. Left loose to flow down her back almost to her waist, a myriad of braids crossed over and under the straight tresses to keep it in place. Her brown eyes, the color of strong coffee, were slightly tilted at the corners and set in a lovely face with lips stained the color of the gems she wore. Christine felt like a plain brown church mouse next to her exotic beauty.

"So, you are acquainted with my former mate, Laurent? How goes the old rogue, still trying to convince Klaus to give in to the bond?"

"Then…you have not heard, Madame?" Christine's face fell as she considered the news she'd have to reveal. "Count St. Claire passed into the Final Transition in 1856, mere months after his beloved Klaus. They never did seal their bond."

"I see," the elegant lady gazed out the window at that same canal that had so recently held Tasha's attention while she gained control of her emotions. Wincing at the sadness that rolled off their guest, the youngling made to rise and leave them in peace. Christine grabbed her hand and shook her head; the Ancient One needed no distractions while she dealt with her grief. "Damn fool," they heard the lady mutter with equal parts sadness and fondness. Becoming aware of the youngsters once more, the Marchesa schooled her features back to their bland politeness. "Now that the unpleasantness is over with, what did you wish to ask me, youngling?"

"It concerns the call of a potential mate, Madame." Though the subject was serious, Christine couldn't help but be amused at being called youngling again.

"Ah, you weren't with your original mate long, were you?"

"No, Madame. Less than a score of years much to my dismay and, though I felt the call while Julien was still with me, I felt…awkward discussing such a thing with him."

"I understand, my dear," the ancient vampire smiled kindly at Christine before getting to the point of the visit. "Now, what did you wish to know?"

"Can a human resist the bond to the point they can block the mind touch of their mate? I have been searching for years and had found him in Paris but both he and I left near the same time. I could feel him at first and he was full of such anger as well as overwhelming despair. And though I know he still lives, his mind is like a closed door that I cannot open. Then there are the dreams which I know must be his…they are so awful. I feel trapped and angry; I see myself covered in blood and surrounded by death and fear and hatred." Christine stopped abruptly and tried to get her emotions back under control. She'd not told Tasha of the dreams other than the general unpleasantness and, in doing so now, it brought back everything she'd tried to forget about them.

"Interesting. You have not met this human mate yet? I would advise you to find him and quickly, youngling. Your dreams are, indeed, a reflection of his or at least of his current mental state in dealing with his life as it now stands. There are ways to aid in the search…do you know of anything you have in common? Anything you felt before he shut his mind to you?"

"The only thing I can think of is music. The one place I felt the closest to him was at the opera house in Paris."

"That will be your key to finding him, then. I'm afraid I can't tell you more beyond this. No human has ever been able to fully block one of us; even one as young as she." The Ancient One motioned to Tasha who sank back into the settee in fearful awe of her age. Gracefully, the Marchesa rose from the chaise signaling the end of the visit and waited for Christine to walk her to the door. There, she took her hand with a kindly smile, ignoring the sudden gasp that her young hostess couldn't conceal. "You shall dine with me, my dear. I'll send a note around as to the date."

"You do us a great honor, Ancient One. You…you're…" the petite brunette couldn't force coherent words to pass her lips as the age of the vampire before her nearly smothered her.

"I was Laurent's original mate, yes. I brought him over and have thought of him with fondness for many centuries. He wrote to me of you and your Julien and it pleased me to see him find such friends during his final years. You brought him great joy and for that I am in your debt." And with that, the Marchesa left the youngsters to return to her estate.

* * *

_A/N: Marchesa is an Italian title equal to a Marchioness. It's a bit higher in rank than a Viscount and a bit lower than a Princess. This makes Eleonora De Laurentiis a powerful woman even without taking in her considerable age and status as a vampire into account._


	9. Chapter 9

_1880_

Christine and Tatiana stayed in Venice for two years enjoying the friendship of the Marchesa and the delight that was Carnivale. Though she had yet to find her own mate, Tatiana took many lovers to her bed. Christine never condemned her for her actions but couldn't bring herself to take a lover of her own when her mate still lived. The women parted ways in the summer of 1880. Tasha chose to remain with her current lover while Christine continued her search alone. She traveled from Venice to Rome by train and then onward to Naples where she boarded a ship for Athens. It seemed the further east she traveled, the stronger she felt him calling to her. His mind, however, remained closed and her nightmares grew.

Athens was a city like no other. The great monuments of an ancient time were breathtaking in their beauty and she spent hours exploring the ruins. She also fell in love with the gaily colored traditional clothing the people wore and purchased several outfits for herself and Tasha. While Christine had never had a head for languages, and the Transition hadn't altered that fact, she still managed to secure a small part in the chorus of the local theater. It was awkward having to rely on translators to do her shopping or ask directions so she often fell back on charades and what few words she'd picked up at the theater. Where once she would have been terrified at being alone in such a place with no one to guide her, three decades of traveling had taught her invaluable skills. Though she greatly enjoyed her time in Athens, Christine still felt the pull of her mate and enquired at the shipyards for a more easterly destination.

"Mademoiselle, you cannot wish to go further east." The ticket master, with the help of a translator, explained his reluctance to sell her a ticket. "Our only eastern port is in Istanbul, Turkey, but I strongly advise against your going alone. The country is in a state of rebuilding now that the Russo-Turkish War has ended and it is no place for a woman; especially a pale, pretty lady who doesn't cover her hair or face with a veil."

"A veil? What do you mean, Monsieur?" Intrigued, Christine waited while the two men spoke rapidly in Greek before the translator emerged from the ticket booth.

"I fear my French is not good enough to explain the Turkish religious ways, Mademoiselle, but if you will permit me?" The man motioned to the scarf she had tied around her waist in the style of the Greek natives. She untied it and handed it to the man who then draped it over her hair and around her face so that only her eyes could be seen. "You see, Mademoiselle? A burka or at least a hijab must be worn and you have no male escort so you will be regarded as a courtesan."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want that!" Christine blushed and wrapped the scarf around her waist once more. "Perhaps I should return to France; it seems I am out of options." With her heart heavy at having to abandon her quest, she purchased a ticket to Naples. She'd take a train up to Venice and see if Tasha was still in residence before continuing on to Paris. She'd spent almost fifteen years feeling that aching need pulling at her soul; how many more did she have ahead of her?

_1884_

"Have I mentioned how much I hate trains?" With a groan, Tasha fell onto the settee of Christine's townhouse on the Rue di Rivoli.

"Only once or twice, Tash," the brunette giggled at her friend before adding, "well, once or twice an hour, I meant. Did you really have to complain all the way from Geneva?" Entering at a more leisurely pace, Christine removed her gloves and cloak and checked her hair; its unruly curls tangled so easily.

"Yes, I most certainly did." The red-head's pout was as attractive as it was practiced; she'd been studying under one of the more famous courtesan's when Christine arrived but opted to accompany her into France. "The beds were hard, the train was noisy, and the cattle…ugh, don't even get me started on _their_ conditions."

"I see. You've been sorely mistreated on the journey, Tash, so I won't even ask if you'd like to accompany me to Le Rossignol for a real dinner." At the interested gleam in her friend's emerald eyes, the elder vampire laughed and advised her to splash some water on her face and do something with her hair. "I swear, girl, it looks like those rodents you insisted were creeping around in our car have nested in your curls."

"They were!" Tatiana threw over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom. "In the car, I mean, not my hair. I could hear them scratching away at the walls…" With a shudder, she closed the door and freshened up while Christine simply laughed.

After her trip to Athens, she'd learned to ignore the never-ending ache that pulled her east towards her mate. It had taken some time and she even feared she'd go mad with the constant urge to find him. The Marchesa had helped her deal with it without suppressing it entirely. So it was now like a wrapped gift; precious and fragile, it was kept in its protective box until she wished to look upon it and then it was put away again to keep it safe. The dreams became fainter as well and she resigned herself to not finding her mate. Not letting it get her down, however, she threaded her arm through Tasha's and together they hailed a cab for Le Rossignol.

"Christine?" Their meal completed, the ladies were sipping from crystal goblets and watching the lights of Paris illuminate the sky. "What does the call of a mate feel like?"

"Well…" stunned, the brunette didn't quite know how to respond. Hadn't she felt it with her first mate? "It's like…a longing or a yearning for someone only you can't find him. You know he exists; you know if he's well or injured or, God forbid, dead. I felt it first as a sort of wanderlust, a desire to travel and see the sights even though they always led me here. To France and Paris and Julien."

"Oh. Ivan and I were partners, I suppose, but we didn't have that bond you speak of. I could never feel him or sense him or know where he was. But now…"

"Now?" Christine smiled excitedly at the thought of her friend finally bonding with a mate of her own. "You've felt it, haven't you? Where?"

"Here in Paris."

"But what is wrong? Aren't you happy?"

"I don't know!" Tasha looked ready to cry. "I know he's here; I've felt him since the very first day of my Transition but have resisted it. Christine, I'm not like you. I don't need to belong to someone. I don't want to be trapped and tied to one person for the rest of my days. I want to be free. But this…this yearning is driving me crazy!"

"Oh Tasha, you _will_ be free when you meet your mate. The bond doesn't tie you down, it helps you to soar. The very first day I met Julien was the day we sealed our bond and began my Transformation. I see you're shocked; so was I. I had been raised as a proper Catholic girl. But the moment his hand touched mine, I knew he was what I'd been searching for. Never did I feel tied to him but I always wished to be with him. And then I felt the birth of my new mate…I felt awful and wonderful all at the same time. I resisted his pull for _decades_ and now he seems beyond my reach and it's killing me. This is the first time I've felt trapped or tied down but never with Julien."

Tatiana nodded her eyes faraway and staring out the window at the lights of Paris. She didn't like this urgent need to find this person, to bond him to her forever. And her to him. She especially didn't like that he was human and young; little more than a boy! What if he didn't like _her_? Had there ever been a bond felt by only one? Ivan had brought her over but even he didn't seem to care much for her at the time. He never explained anything or helped her through that first awful month… She couldn't do this! What did she know about being someone's mate?

They were subdued when they left the club; both troubled by their thoughts. Christine once more reached out to her mate and once more met with…suddenly, she sat up. She could sense him once more and he appeared to be growing closer. The hatred and anger and pain was still buried deep inside; she wondered if they were even stronger than before and wondered what kind of person her potential mate had become. She prayed he was returning to Paris and she wove that wish into her thoughts as they touched his. Unlike Julien or Count St. Claire, she was unable to speak through their connection unless she was under a great deal of stress, such as the murder of Heidi and Wolfgang. Instead, she could only share emotions or feelings or desires and hope they, in turn, could read her better than she could communicate.

The next night, Tatiana begged off accompanying her to Le Théâtre de Mystère while pleading a headache. Christine knew she wished to be alone but had to work hard to squash the smile that teased at her lips. Could vampires even get headaches? She met with Rudolfo Terranova, part owner of the theater along with Julien, to see if he wished to purchase her mate's share or if she should remain a silent partner. Though Rudolfo was human, he'd always known about Julien and thus Christine as well. He had been her mate's protector during the daytime hours in the first year of his undeath. Now an old man, she wanted to ensure he and his family were well cared for. She had no need for the income from the theater, having inherited Julien's share of Count St. Claire's estate upon his Final Transition, but she didn't like investing in something she wasn't keeping a keen eye on. Hmm…perhaps it would be something Tasha would find interesting? The human manager had no desire to purchase her share of the theater and, having no children of his own, asked if he could sign over his half before he died. With an impish smile, she directed him to fill out her friend's name on the transferal papers.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Madame Montfort?" Rudolfo had only met her a few times over the years but each time he was stunned anew by her beauty.

"Yes, Monsieur Terranova, I'm certain. Tasha has been with me for many years and I believe she will appreciate some direction."

"Then…she's like you an' Master Montfort?" Christine noted with amusement that if he twisted his poor, abused hat any more, he was going to rip it in half. Then she wondered at the reasoning behind his question.

"Yes, will that be a problem, Monsieur?"

"Oh, no! Right glad I am of it, to be honest with you, Madame. The place needs good, stable owners to keep it running. I'm not as young as I used to be and it's getting too much for me."

"I'll talk to Tasha tonight and see what she thinks. If you're amenable to the idea, we'd be glad to keep you on as a consultant at your current pay unless you'd prefer to retire somewhere in the country."

"Getting paid for not working don't seem right to me, Madame, but if I can possibly cut a few hours off as a consultant, that suits me just fine."

"Excellent. I'll get back to you in a few days as the most." Rising, Christine and Rudolfo shook hands over the agreement and then he escorted her to the door. She declined a cab, choosing instead to walk and window shop. As she left the human at the theater, she thought of his age and what that meant with sadness. Here was another friend she was going to lose soon. Once more she thought of elders like her Julien and Count St. Claire and the Marchesa; how did they live each day for _centuries_ knowing they must lose those they care for over and over again? Could she stand this; was she strong enough? Julien believed her capable of anything while the Marchesa said she had untapped strengths. She never explained but Christine was hopeful. Now if only she could find her mate…

_1885_

As the moon hid its feeble light behind a cloud, a shadow approached the opera house via the Rue Scribe. The shriek of rusty metal scared a pair of alley cats feasting on a sewer rat but attracted no other attention. Mentally noting that the door would need a good oiling, the shadow disappeared into the pitch black tunnel and locked the door behind him. It had been ten years since the shadow had last walked these tunnels and yet its footsteps never faltered. There was no light to guide its way and yet it nimbly sidestepped the traps laid a decade ago until it had reached the frigid underground lake. Around the perimeter was the most dangerous path and yet the shadow chose it without hesitation. The traps that rested there were no longer just painful, they were deadly. But still, the shadow avoided them with ease. As it arrived at the smooth stone wall that supported the opera house above, the shadow brushed a hand over a stain in the rock and a door suddenly swung open without a sound. Upon entering, the door closed once more and the wall bore no trace that it existed at all.

The lamps flared to life, chasing away the shadows to flicker over the masked man who stood in the center of the room. He'd never intended to be away from his sanctuary for so long but fate had such a cruel sense of humor, especially for disfigured monsters such as he. With an elegant economy of motion, he hung his cloak and hat by the door on a surprisingly normal coat rack before advancing to the hearth. It took a few moments but soon there was a roaring fire that struggled to chase away the damp and cold. Soon he would have to restock his pantry for he knew anything it held when he'd last been in residence was now spoiled. A quick examination of the small compartment that served as a wine cellar yielded a fine bottle of well-aged brandy. Satisfied, the masked man carried it and a glass to a dusty chair by the fireplace. He would give the place a thorough cleaning in the morning after an early trip to the market. Removing his mask and rubbing a hand over the mangled half of his face, made worse by the Shah's tortures, Erik vowed to be away from his home as little as possible. If he had been tired of humanity a decade ago, he actively loathed them now that he'd seen the depths to which they can sink into depravity.

The tongues of flame in the fireplace mesmerized him and he felt that yearning for something or someone. Frowning, he attempted to bury it once more but it wouldn't leave him in the peace he so dearly desired. For months, hell for years, he'd felt the pull towards this unknown thing and had fought it desperately. While in Persia, he'd managed to suppress it but now that he was back in Paris, it seemed stronger; as if whatever was calling to him was close by. With a snarl, he threw the glass into the fire and watched it flare brightly as it hungrily devoured the alcohol. He would be rid of this ridiculous…whatever it was. He had no need of anyone or anything except his music and solitude from the mass of teeming insects called humanity.

It took Erik six months to thoroughly clean, restock, and refurnish his underground home. During that time, he'd managed to 'acquire' a violin and clarinet from the orchestra as well as an old piano that was shoved into a corner awaiting either repairs or the refuse bin. Within two months, the piano was polished and tuned and music filled his home. One night while 'acquiring' staff paper, quills, and ink, he passed a cathedral that was filling the night sky with the most amazing music. The pipe organ spoke to his soul and he knew his poor piano would be relegated to second best if he could manage to obtain one of the magnificent instruments for his own. By the time he'd purchased and transported a brass pipe organ into his underground home, he'd been back in Paris nearly a year. As the New Year approached, he had the sudden desire to venture aboveground and see just what kind of mess they were making of _his_ opera house. From the flies, he spied the preparations for a party or ball which piqued his curiosity. It was easy enough to enter the manager's office and it was there he saw the plans for a Masquerade Ball. With a deliciously wicked smile, Erik procured an invitation from the stack awaiting delivery and disappeared back into the shadows.

* * *

_A/N: Aaaaannnd they're now in Paris at the same time *cue dramatic music* lol Thank you to all who've added this to their favorites, written a review, or both! It warms the heart :D_


	10. Chapter 10

_1886_

The Masquerade Ball to kick off the New Year was a definite crush which also meant it was a resounding success. Christine winced when one of the singers decided that opera and alcohol mixed well and hit an extremely bad note; even if her ears weren't unnaturally sharp, that would have hurt. She could feel her mate was close; perhaps not at the ball but definitely in the building. She growled slightly in frustration. Didn't he feel the same longing as she? Looking over the crowd, she spotted Tatiana dancing with one of the patrons of the theater. Both girls had decided to complement each other so Tasha wore a seductive red while she wore virginal white: Devil and Angel. Feeling the need to escape the close press of bodies, Christine left the ballroom for the foyer and some much needed relief for her ears and senses. She may have fed just prior to arriving but so much blood in one place was still a temptation for any vampire. As she reached the top of the Grand Staircase, she spied an older woman dressed in the severe black of mourning talking to an elegant gentleman in evening attire. Something about the man was familiar and she approached the couple slowly. It was _him_! She nearly wept with relief. That was before the woman spotted her and whispered something to the man. With a start, he tossed a small sphere at the bottom of the staircase which gave a brilliant and painful flash of light followed by smoke. When it had cleared and the spots had fled her vision, her mate was nowhere to be seen.

At the bottom of the staircase, Madame Cecile Giry wiped her eyes before the smoke had cleared and regained some semblance of her normally unflappable calm. Erik was actually here, not only in Paris but in the opera house. He swore he'd come to her later to talk and she dearly hoped he would. After the war and the ugly business with the Commune, he was the only son she had left and she didn't want to lose him again. As she turned to retire to her room, the lady in white quickly ran down the stairs to stop her.

"Please, Madame, do you know that gentleman?"

"I know many gentlemen, Mademoiselle. Perhaps you should be more specific." Wrapping the persona of the indomitable ballet mistress around her like a protective cloak, she gazed at the lady with an expression devoid of emotion.

"The one you were talking to just moments ago." Christine was ready to pull her hair out strand by curly strand. Surely this human wasn't that obtuse? Pulling the mask from her face, she took a deep calming breath and tried again. "Madame, I desperately need to speak with him. I've been looking for him for a long time. Now that I've found him, I don't want to lose him again!" She knew she was making little sense but he was _so close_.

"Really, Mademoiselle? Perhaps you would honor me with the name of the gentleman you seek so I can determine if we know the same gentleman?"

In all her years, Christine had never wished she could charm a human like in all the folktales…until now. Why was this woman being so damnably stubborn and protective? The fragile mask was slowly crushed as her hands clenched into fists to keep them from the woman's throat. There was nothing Christine could say short of the truth that would convince her to reveal the man's name or location and that she could not do. Searching for another way, she rummaged through the small reticule she carried and pulled out one of her calling cards.

"I know this makes little sense, Madame, but would you please give this to him and ask him to contact me? Tell him…tell him…never mind. Just please give him the card." Fighting back tears of frustration that she couldn't disguise while wearing white, Christine turned to find her friend and inform her she was going home.

"Wait." Madame Giry was surprised at the desperation in the child's voice even though she could make no promises on Erik's behalf. "What is it that you wanted me to say, Mademoiselle?" Christine stopped but refused to turn around.

"I just wanted to tell him that I know what he's been yearning for, what drew him back to Paris time and again. I realize I sound crazy, Madame. Adieu." She darted up the stairs as quickly as she'd run down them and went straight to Tasha. Though she encouraged her friend to stay and enjoy the ball, Christine did appreciate the arm that wrapped around her waist in support as they fetched their cloaks and gloves and waited on their carriage. From behind one of the mirrors that lined the foyer, a shadow watched the pair and fought against a longing that nearly overwhelmed him.

**xxxx**

A few hours later found the masked man in the private quarters of the ballet mistress, sipping a glass of wine while listening to his sister and mother tell him all that had happened in the years since he'd left. He'd never known that Cecile had been a ballerina before her marriage and was proud of her status at his theater. Marguerite, who much preferred being called Meg now, was following in her mother's footsteps. From all accounts, she was destined to become a prima ballerina as long as she continued to practice and devote all her energy to dance. This was said with a pointed look at the young girl who pouted then kissed first Erik, then her mother, before flouncing off to bed. She had grown so much from the little sprite he remembered. Cecile never had so much grey in her hair either, nor the lines that creased her face near her eyes and mouth. So much time wasted and now…he was no longer the boy who left home to prevent his mother from making an impossible choice. He should have stayed away but he'd been so happy to see her. When was the last time he'd been happy?

"Now that you've effectively chased away my sister, what did you wish to discuss that couldn't be done in front of her?" Placing the still half full glass on her desk, the masked man leaned back in the chair and watched her through hooded eyes. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what she said.

"The young lady who was on the staircase earlier and saw us talking gave me this to give to you." Cecile handed over Christine's calling card which Erik glanced over before tossing onto her desk beside the glass.

"And what of it? A dancer looking for a patron is my guess."

"I'm not so certain, Erik. She seemed quite upset that you had disappeared…"

"…and took my money with me." He inserted snidely which earned him a Look.

"She said that she'd been looking for you even though she couldn't tell me your name. After giving me the card, she then said something I found very odd. She said she knew what you were yearning for and what drew you back to Paris. Do you know what she meant by that?"

Erik stared at Cecile in quickly concealed shock for he did know what the girl, this Christine Daaé, spoke of. How did she know about that infernal longing he'd had for as long as he could remember? Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, he approached the conundrum from every conceivable angle and still couldn't come up with a satisfactory explanation. Somehow she knew…knowledge made the one who held it powerful and the one it was held against powerless. He'd learned this lesson many times over in Persia. Now to formulate a reply that would expose her while keeping his own secrets safe. Unconsciously, he touched the mask that hid the horror of his face as he laid out his plan.

"I'm not quite sure, maman, but I don't trust her. Would you do me a favor? Ask her to return soon and see if she has any skills for the stage. If she sings, that would be perfect." The smile that crept across his face unnerved her; it was the same look a predator wears as it stalks its prey. "Convince her to join the company so I can observe her and see if she works for…anyone who might wish to do the opera house or myself any harm."

At the coldness in his eyes and voice, Cecile wondered what had happened to the child she'd raised and loved. She'd been desolate when little Meg had returned home with the letter and coins and explained what he'd done. As much as she'd loved her two sons, she had watched them grow into the same type of man as her husband. To her shame, she knew that, had she been forced to choose, she would have remained with Erik and Meg and let Michel take the boys.

"Erik. I don't know what happened over the years but remember that Meg and I are your family. There is nothing you could do, or that you have ever done, that will change that. We love you, son." With that said, she placed a gentle kiss on his brow. He stood and enveloped her in a hug that nearly robbed her of breath; she rubbed his back as she felt his shoulders shake with silent sobs. One day, she would get him to reveal all he'd been through and perhaps then she could help him heal.

The next morning, Madame Giry sent a note to Christine requesting she meet her in her office at the opera house. Almost immediately, she replied that she would arrive in an hour's time if that was convenient for the ballet mistress. Cecile sent the courier back to confirm the meeting and wondered just how she was to inform Erik so he could attend. Muttering softly about stubborn men, she nearly jumped out of her skin when his amused chuckle sounded in the room while he was nowhere to be seen.

"Erik, don't do that. I'm an old woman and you just took a few of my remaining years from me. Now where are you?"

"I wouldn't be a very good ghost if you could see me, maman." His mocking voice seemed to come from her vase of flowers and she gave them such a glare that they wilted slightly.

"You aren't a ghost at all, silly boy. What's the meaning of this foolishness?"

"Oh but I am, maman. All of the better opera houses have ghosts; I've chosen to haunt this one. It was sorely lacking an otherworldly spirit."

"Very well, have your fun, but Mademoiselle Daaé will be here in half an hour. Do you plan to attend or merely haunt the meeting?" She had grown rather sarcastic over the years he noted with some amusement. This might be more fun than he'd originally thought.

"I will observe but will not make myself known to this girl. Not yet, anyway."

Cecile merely snorted and pulled out the libretto for the next opera they were to perform. She and Meg would spend the down time working out the particulars of the choreography and adjusting them to fit their stage before presenting it to the corps. She was heavily immersed in her work when a knock at the door put a fierce scowl on her face at the interruption. She'd totally forgotten the appointment.

"Enter!"

The moment the petite brunette walked into the room, she gathered her irritation and shoved it out of the way as she rose to greet her. Today, the girl appeared to have a haunted look and was glancing around the room as if searching for something. Or someone? Once the initial pleasantries were performed, the ballet mistress returned to her seat behind the desk and pondered just what to say. Christine spoke before she could gather her thoughts.

"Madame, I thought I'd be meeting…" Frustrated that she still didn't know his name, she clenched her hands together tightly. He was _so close_. Why was he hiding from her? Why was he refusing the bond?

"Yes, well, there are other things that must be seen to before that can be arranged. Have you ever performed before an audience, Mademoiselle Daaé?" The girl was practically shaking in the chair; was she addicted to opium or morphine or some other drug?

"What?" That was not what she'd expected at all. "Um, yes, but not in France. I last performed at the Imperial Bolshoi Theater in Moscow. Why, Madame?" Her eyes continued to search the room for some sign of her mate's hiding place. It was torture to be so close to him and not…enough of that, she scolded herself silently as she felt the points of her fangs begin to elongate.

"Because we will be performing _Hannibal _in the spring. Do you dance or sing?"

"Sing, Madame. I dance but little and very poorly. What does this have to do with meeting the gentleman I saw you with last night?" She winced as her frustration battered away at her manners but still she rose to leave. "My apologies, Madame, I misunderstood your purpose in asking me to meet you. Do forgive me for wasting your time." Christine's hand was on the doorknob when, once again, the ballet mistress' curt voice stopped her from leaving.

"Where do you think you're going, Mademoiselle? You asked for a meeting with the Maestro but he doesn't grant them to just anyone. If you do well here with the company, then arrangements can be made but nothing can happen immediately."

Christine paused uncertainly. To remain here, so close but unable to meet him, would be torture of the worst kind. And yet, to leave meant to possibly lose any chance of finding him at all. Neither choice was ideal. _Why_ did humans have to make things so difficult? Slowly she turned to face Cecile, her shoulders slumped in defeat. It was obvious what her choice would be and she hated being manipulated in such a way. Things were so much easier with Julien.

"If that is his price, then so be it. When do auditions begin?"

**xxxx**

For two weeks, Christine had rehearsed with the chorus for the upcoming production of _Hannibal_. For two weeks, she'd been in constant torment of knowing her mate was so close and yet still out of reach. At night, she returned to the townhouse to feed and sulk; her normally sunny disposition buried under the strain. The more she remained so close to him, the more she yearned for him; many times she'd considered returning to her estate in Sweden and waiting for his passing. Just as often, that dull throbbing ache reminded her of what she'd leave behind if only she could meet her mate and seal the bond. Groaning in frustration, Christine picked up a glass and threw it at the wall. The sound of glass shattering was quite satisfactory though it brought Tatiana racing into the room.

"Oh, Christine," the strain in her voice made the brunette feel guilty; she'd promised to help her with the opening production for Le Théâtre de Mystère and here she was rehearsing for _Hannibal_ at the Académie Nationale de Musique. "Have you had no luck finding your mate?" She could do nothing but shake her head miserably as she fought back her tears.

"Why, Tash? Why does he do this to us both? He must be as tormented as I am to be so close and yet…" With a groan, Christine buried her face in her hands. "Maybe I should return to Sweden and forget him?"

"No, Christine, you can't do that. It would destroy you to ignore the bond even more than being this close to him without sealing it. Patience, Chris…it'll work out soon." Tatiana's eyes flashed crimson as she added silently that if it didn't, she would personally hunt down her friend's mate and there'd be hell to pay.

She attended rehearsals, made all the correct moves, and sang all the right songs, but her heart and soul were no longer in the performances. In order to bear his nearness, she'd had to close off that part of her that so desperately longed for her mate. One month passed into two and still nothing changed; Christine approached Madame Giry once more.

"Madame, why will he not meet with me?"

"I don't know, my dear." Cecile felt sorry for the girl for she'd watched her spirit slowly wither beneath Erik's indifference and refusal to meet with her. She didn't know exactly why this meeting was so important to Christine but she saw the results every day. "I'll try again but he can be quite stubborn."

Nodding, the brunette turned away and walked out of the opera house. Tonight, she would return after everyone had gone to bed and hunt for him one more time. If he refused to meet, if he was so determined to ignore the bond that twisted her soul in knots, then she would leave for Sweden. She could take no more. Leaving a note for Tasha, Christine fed quickly before dressing in darker colors to blend with the shadows. She prayed he would end both their suffering tonight.

The opera house was dark when Christine sneaked in through a side door. The ballet rats were tucked away snugly in their dormitory; the stage hands had gone home or passed out behind the larger props. As she walked through the empty building, once more she felt it. That _something_ that pulled her time and again to this place. No, not something. Someone. Her mate lurked within these walls. She could feel him, smell him, sense his presence unlike any other. What she could not do, to her growing frustration, is find him.

* * *

_A/N: Aaaannnndddd this takes us to the opening paragraph at the start of the tale :D Thanks go out to all who've reviewed, read, or placed this little story on their favorites. All comments are appreciated :)_


	11. Chapter 11

_1886_

Silently moving through the darkened building, Christine approached the stairs to the cellars. In the weeks she'd been at the opera house, she'd already searched all of the dormitories, the kitchen, prop rooms, and the seamstresses' work areas. She'd been to the roof and through every storage room and abandoned practice room she could find. Having finished with the upper floors, tonight she was going below. Removing her cloak to reveal a pair of men's trousers and a loose shirt, she folded it neatly and hid it under the base of the stairs; skirts would have hindered her movements far too much. Once more she was grateful for her keen vision for a lantern would have given away her position to anyone who might be lurking beneath the opera house. As she crept from wine cellar to pantry to prop storage room, Christine saw evidence of use in the rooms by drunken stage hands but no sign of her mate. Thankfully, she had a small shred of hope in that she felt she was growing closer to him. No sound reached her ears and so she climbed down the stairs deeper into the darkness.

The silence at this level was eerily broken only by the chattering of rats and water dripping from the cold ceilings. The rooms were dusty with disuse and filled with old and broken set pieces from past productions. Christine saw some evidence that the Commune had used these cellars for their own purposes but even that was covered by the dust and mold of time. When all she found was dust, dirt, and darkness, she took the stairs even further below. The third cellar walls and floors weren't as smooth as the two above and she wondered if it had been abandoned prior to completion. The few rooms she found were empty of anything but small puddles of standing water and rat droppings. She'd come to the end of the rooms beneath the opera house and still no sign of her mate. Grumbling softly beneath her breath, she turned towards the stairs when she heard the unmistakable sound of an expertly played organ. Even more astonishing, it was coming from below.

Closing her eyes in an effort to heighten the rest of her senses, Christine moved through the crudely carved rooms until she found where the music sounded the loudest. Starting at one corner and working her way in a grid pattern, she overturned each stone and explored every puddle as she spent hours searching the room thoroughly. Just as she was about to give up, she felt a small stone in a wall shift and give an unnatural click. As a narrow section of the wall soundlessly pivoted open, the haunting music grew louder. With a small smile of triumph, Christine slipped through the door and wedged it open with a loose stone. No sense in getting trapped down here; from all accounts, starving to death was as dreadful for her kind as it was for humans.

Low-flickering lanterns hung every fifty feet or so provided a small amount of light along with a suitably creepy atmosphere. Several times, she had to remind herself that she was far scarier and more dangerous to the rats that brushed against her legs than they were to her. It only helped a little and not for very long before she was cringing away from their beady eyes and scratching little claws once more. Nasty creatures. As a particularly large rat bumped the back of her leg nearly causing her to fall, Christine couldn't suppress the startled shriek that echoed loudly in the tunnels. When she pressed her back to the cold, damp wall to calm down, the oppressive silence warned her that her presence was no longer a secret known only to herself and the rats she despised. Slowly, she resumed her trek while concentrating on the pull of the bond. As intensely focused as she was, she didn't notice the lanterns flickering away to smoke until she was plunged into absolute darkness. With no time to allow her eyes to adjust, Christine shrieked once more when leather gloved hands suddenly appeared and wrapped tightly around her upper arms. Terrified, she struggled to get away but the hold shifted until her back was pressed against a warm, firm body and a foul-smelling cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. Chloroform. She almost chuckled in sudden amusement. If she needed to breathe, she would be in quite a predicament indeed. Instead, the sudden warmth that flooded her body as her attacker scooped her into his arms let her know she'd found her mate at last and she let her body go limp if only to see what he had planned.

**xxxx**

Looking down at the figure in his arms, Erik cursed her tenacity. He'd known someone was in the tunnels the moment she'd entered them; he had alarms on every entrance to his home. Then the rats had been disturbed and their chattering as they fled from the intruder almost covered a very feminine shriek. He continued to play while listening for the next alarm to sound that would alert him as to how far she'd traveled. Once he'd identified her position, it had been an easy thing to circle around behind her via a lesser used path and begin quenching the lamps. Erik had grabbed her and pulled her flush against him to allow leverage for the drugged cloth to go into place when he felt an overwhelming warmth and _rightness_ at holding this female. He picked her up when her body sagged under the influence of the chloroform and started down the dark corridor towards his home.

Erik placed his petite bundle into the gondola and poled them across a lake. With the light at his back, even should she awaken, there was little she could see of him yet he had an unobstructed view of her. She was dressed in men's clothing that did little to hide her femininity and much to enhance her curves. He fully understood, now, why women's fashions required so many layers; her body was exquisite, a siren's song that pulled him towards her. The boat tapped the short wooden dock gently and he hopped out gracefully to secure it. Picking up his unexpected guest once more, he hit the hidden switch that gave him entrance to his home and carried her into the sitting room. Erik laid her on the settee, covered her with his cloak, and turned to stoke the fire. He'd let it die while he'd been playing and even he could feel the chill in the room. As he turned back to his guest, he was astonished to see her calmly sitting up and watching him.

"We finally meet, Monsieur. I've waited for this moment for weeks. Why did you fight it?" Christine gazed at him with no fear, no surprise…and nothing clouding her vision either. He frowned slightly as her clear brown eyes smiled up at him.

"You were never under the influence of the chloroform, were you?" She merely shook her head. "Who hired you to find me, Mademoiselle?"

"Hired me? No one hired me. I felt your soul call to mine and sought you out. Surely you've felt the longing, the yearning that I have?" She tilted her head slightly as she ran her eyes over his face, memorizing his every feature. He was, in a word, delectable.

He was tall, exceedingly so when compared to her diminutive height, and slender to the point of thin. Remembering the feel of his arms around her, Christine was well aware that he was much stronger than he appeared. In full evening dress, he exuded authority, confidence, and masculine grace. As he leaned against the hearth, she noticed that he even lounged gracefully, reminding her of a large jungle cat sunning himself after a hunt. Dark brown hair, almost black, was combed back from his face and laid in soft waves against his shoulders. Two things caught her attention as she continued her perusal of him: the first was his eyes which glowed a golden amber with a light that seemed to come from within; the second was the porcelain white mask that covered the right half of his face. The eyes fascinated her but the mask and what it covered was of no consequence; her soul had already given itself to his. She thought that perhaps she'd discovered why he'd kept his distance, however.

"You must have me confused with someone else, Mademoiselle Daaé. I haven't any strange 'yearnings' nor am I certain if I have a soul. What I do have, however, is a lack of patience with lies and deception so I will ask you again: who hired you?" Amber eyes flashed as his temper rose and Christine felt a thrill dance along her spine.

"Monsieur…" Standing, she approached him and stood with mere inches separating their bodies. "For one, you have me at a disadvantage for you know my name but I have been denied yours. Also, no one has hired me to do anything but sing in the chorus which, I believe, was your idea and by your decree; so perhaps you could answer that question far better than I. And lastly, you claim to despise lies and yet you, yourself, are indulging in them even now." Hesitantly, Christine rested her hand on his chest just over his heart as she gazed up at him in confusion. "Why are you denying this?"

Erik jerked away from her hand and walked to the cabinet to pour himself a drink. Beneath his jacket, his skin tingled from the gentle touch. Throwing back the brandy, he could still smell her perfume on his clothes from where he'd carried her into his home and it was driving him mad. Setting the glass onto the cabinet with a bang, Erik turned to demand she answer his question only to find that she'd moved close to him again. A long, silent moment passed between them as each sought answers in the others' eyes. Accustomed to hiding his emotions, his face revealed nothing of the turmoil that raged inside him. Yes, he felt the longing Christine had mentioned but he held few illusions; he'd long ago resigned himself to a life of solitude and this beautiful child taunted him with everything he could not have.

"Very well, if you insist upon this charade, Mademoiselle, then we have nothing further to say to each other. You may have the bed for the night and I'll return you to the surface in the morning."

"What?" Christine stared at him in amazement. After all she'd done, all she'd gone through to find him, he was going to deny the bond? "This is not a charade, Monsieur, and if you'd stop and allow yourself to _feel_, you'd know it to be true. My God, I've never known a human as blindly stubborn as you. You've doomed us both to years of senseless yearning and misery and for what? What reason could you possibly have to refuse us both the happiness we could have with one another?"

When her questions were answered with only silence, she growled in frustration and stormed towards the door. If he wanted to be miserable, so be it; she would travel back to Sweden where the longing and heartache wouldn't be as strong. Erik grabbed her upper arm to stop her retreat but she wrenched herself free from his hold and continued to the door. She couldn't face him again; not after she'd gambled everything and lost. Tears of pain and rejection formed in her eyes but she fought them back. That was an explanation she refused to make now that he'd made his wishes more than plain. Triggering the door like she'd done it for years, Christine had almost made her escape when a rope flew over her head to wrap around her arms just below the elbow and prevent her from leaving. She struggled to gain the leverage needed to remove the lasso but it was far too tight.

"I don't believe I gave permission for you to leave just yet, Mademoiselle. Not only have you not answered my questions but you've now raised new ones." Christine clenched her small hands into fists at his mocking tone as her temper flared to life.

Erik had kept a firm grip on the lasso as he closed the distance between them. Gripping the loop where it rested against the small of her back, he guided her back to the settee and pushed her onto it. Christine refused to look at him; it was far too painful when he was this close. Tentatively, she touched his mind with hers in hopes of finding out what he was feeling but met with only silence. He'd retreated from her once more. Bowing her head in defeat, she couldn't stop the tear that rolled down her cheek. Slowly working one of her hands free, she had almost succeeded when gentle fingers captured her chin and turned her to face him. Christine closed her eyes against his shock and confusion; how was she to explain this?

"Mademoiselle, are you injured?" When she shook her head, Erik frowned and brushed away the bloody tear. "Then why are you bleeding?"

"I'm not, Monsieur, not really." Pulling her chin from his grasp, Christine wiped her eyes with a dark handkerchief then kept her head bowed so her hair served as a protective curtain between them.

"Then what did I just wipe from your face if not blood?"

"Nothing of importance, I assure you. You mentioned a bed where I could rest, Monsieur? I'd like to use it now, please."

"Look at me, Mademoiselle Daaé." Again, her only reply was a shake of her head and he could see her shoulders trembling. Forcing her to look at him, Erik froze at the bloody trails that snaked down her face. And then, as she struggled to turn away from him, he watched a red tear form in her eye and follow the path of all the others. "You're crying…" He let his voice trail off as she wiped her face once more and again tried to pull away from him. "How is this possible?"

"Not everything is as it seems, Monsieur." Christine opened her eyes, knowing her turbulent emotions and the closeness of her mate had changed her soft brown eyes a vivid red. "You have made it clear that you wish to deny the bond between us. Though it pains me to do so, I shall honor your wishes; however, the only way to ease both our suffering is for me to leave and travel as quickly and as far away as I possibly can. I can answer none of your questions to your satisfaction, Monsieur, for anything I'd say I doubt you'd believe."

"I would ask that you let me be the judge of that, Mademoiselle."

"It is too dangerous while you refuse the bond; for you, for me, and for my kind. I will not risk the others to assuage your curiosity." Her voice was both steady and strong; this was a point she was unwilling to debate with him or anyone. There was too much fear and incorrect information about vampires for her to allow too many humans to know what she was.

"Then explain this…bond you keep mentioning or is that not allowed either?" Christine winced at the sarcasm in his voice but knew she deserved it for leaving him so fully in the dark.

"I know only what I've experienced myself in the past and some information I've gathered in the years since. Just like marriage, the bond is different for everyone; and like in marriages, there are love matches and marriages based on status, position, and fortune. Unbonded mates can be chosen out of affection or the same superficial and material advantages of some marriages. The bond is similar to a love match only it's much stronger than that. It's a joining of hearts and souls that begins on the day of the birth of the human mate and continues until one of the pair passes into the Final Transition. When a human mate is born whose soul is a perfect complement to someone like me, then both feel the initial connection although it fades until the babe is older." She glanced at him quickly to see if he was grasping what she was saying. The visible side of his face was as guarded and unemotional as the white porcelain.

"When the potential mate is an adolescent child, there is only a vague sense of awareness of their good health. Once the human child nears adulthood, the call of their soul grows stronger and the…um, we can sense a general direction of where they may be found and how close the mate is. Some can even speak or send feelings or images to their potential mate; I'm not well trained in the skill so I can do little. You, Monsieur, were able to block me from your mind entirely for many years just as you are doing now.

"If the bond is refused, as you have done, the longing continues to grow until one of the pair is lost to true death or a new mate is born to the kin. Time and great distance can ease the pain and longing but it will never go away while both live. That is why it would be best if I were to leave now so that I can put as many miles between us as I can before the winter freeze prevents me from traveling."

Silence fell between them once more and only the fire dancing in the hearth dared to disturb it with its crackles and pops. Erik had leaned back in his chair and, resting his elbows on the arms, had steepled his fingers while in thought. The girl seemed sincere but every madman believes they are the reincarnation of Nostradamus or whatever their delusion revolves around. There was enough truth in what she was saying, however, to give him pause. The strange yearning for something or someone that had followed him all his life had grown stronger, more acute when she'd arrived at the opera house. That still didn't explain why she referred to him as being human with the implication that she was not. It also didn't explain her references to 'true death' and the Final Transition.

"Let's say I choose to believe you, Mademoiselle Daaé. What would sealing this bond entail?" He was fascinated at the intense blush that rose on her pale cheeks.

"It depends, Monsieur. If we were to simply embrace the bond without sealing it, we would become life mates…lovers or spouses if you prefer the term. Sealing it is far more permanent and involves changes that are somewhat unpleasant. Again, I'd prefer not to discuss something that could bring danger to me without some kind of commitment from you."

When Erik fell silent contemplating all she'd told him, Christine removed the rope from around her body and rose from the settee. She couldn't understand why he was so against their being a couple but she would never force him into it. She turned towards the door to leave him to his thoughts when his voice stopped her.

"And what of the mask, Mademoiselle, and what lies beneath it?" The bitterness in his voice pulled at her heart and she turned so he could see the truth of her words.

"It wouldn't matter, Monsieur, if you were the most handsome man in all of France or the most hideous; your soul is beautiful and that is what I fell in love with."

* * *

_A/N: Somehow, I just don't see Erik as being one to say "oh, wow, you're a vamp. cool. let's get it on!" lol So, yeah, he's still being rather problematic._


	12. Chapter 12

_1886_

_"…your soul is beautiful and that is what I fell in love with."_

The words he'd never allowed himself to hope to hear fell easily from the girl's beautiful lips and for a while his only reply was stunned silence. It didn't matter? Of course it mattered! It always mattered. From the rejection by his family to the fear and hatred of Michel and his sons to the torments of Persia, the mask and the face beneath it had always dictated his fate. The very idea that this chorus girl could so carelessly brush aside the cause of all his pain stirred the embers of anger into a raging inferno. In a burst of speed impressive even to Christine, he leapt from his chair to spin her around and pin her to the wall.

"It doesn't matter, Mademoiselle? _It. Doesn't. **MATTER**?_ How dare you mock me? You speak of things you know nothing about. This face has made women faint, children scream in terror, and men nauseous. It has driven me from my home away from a father who hated me to a cage in a freak show. It has terrified the harem girls in Persia to the point that one preferred death by her own hand to avoid being my bride. Do not say that it doesn't matter." Christine shrank against the door at the rage that battered at her senses and lit his eyes with an unholy gleam. She may be less than human but surely the very heavens quaked at the fury and pain in Erik's voice.

"But…beloved mate, there is more to you than your face." Her words, intended to be spoken in confidence, wavered uncertainly beneath the heat of his anger.

"Then feast your eyes, Mademoiselle, on the face of a demon!" With a single, harsh motion, Erik ripped the mask from his face revealing the distorted and discolored flesh that covered the right side from hairline to chin. Christine, frightened of his anger, gasped at the violence of the motion and, though she'd curse herself for it later, the initial shock of his face. "As I thought," he chuckled darkly, "the love you claim you feel cannot survive your fear of the monster. Am I not a handsome man, Christine Daaé? A regular Don Juan!" Placing a hand on either side of her head where she cringed against the wall, he closed the distance between their bodies to press his own firmly against her soft curves.

She was trapped between the cold, hard stone and the hard, tempting body of the man before her. His scent, a mixture of clean human male, sandalwood, and his own musk, assaulted her senses and shot heat straight to her core. Regardless of the distortion that covered his face, Erik was far too tempting and far too close. If she wasn't insane by the time she left his home, it would be a miracle.

"Please, step back." Her whispered plea was unashamed begging. Her mate only grinned maliciously and pressed more firmly against her curves. Christine closed her eyes with a whimper but that merely enhanced her other senses. She was trembling heavily from the strain of not touching him.

Erik watched her reaction to him with a sense of detached disappointment. Her obvious fear and disgust of him hurt him far more than he cared to admit. He'd refused to believe her claims that she didn't care what he looked like and yet, here she was retreating from the horror like all the others. Once more, it had been made quite clear yet that no one could love a monster with a face like his. Thinking to punish her for igniting even the faintest spark of hope, he moved one hand from the wall by her head and ran it lightly down the length of her body from her neck down her arm to the gentle curve of her hip where it rested.

"You don't want me to do that, Christine," his velvety soft voice whispered across her skin and set every nerve in her body aflame. "Do you?" A low moan escaped her when his breath teased her ear. Shaking her head, she whimpered once more knowing that she was quickly losing the battle with her natural instinct to lay claim to her mate. "Then tell me…what do you want?"

"You," her eyes snapped open and locked onto his golden ones, barely registering his surprise at seeing the once brown pupils now fully coated in a red haze. Reaching out to tangle her fingers into his hair, Christine growled low in her throat as she pulled him closer. "I want _you_, dammit. I want you to accept the bond or _set me free_!" And then she kissed him.

She kissed him with all the passion she'd been suppressing since she'd first sensed his presence in Paris a decade ago. Her tongue teased at his lips until they opened to allow her entry and she drank deeply of his nectar. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of and more and oh, how she'd dreamed! Briefly, their lips parted and he stared at her in shocked wonder. A kiss, his first kiss, and what a kiss! With another low, sensual growl, Christine pulled him back down to capture his lips again. This time, Erik responded by wrapping his arms around her waist to press her even more completely against the hard planes of his body. Every emotion he thought forever denied to him was in the two hungry lips that claimed him and the soft curves that writhed against him. This was more than desire and not even remotely associated with fear; this was pure unadulterated need. When their lips parted for him to take a much needed, shaky breath, Christine gazed up at the one who was destined to be hers. They were both shocked at the inferno that blazed between them but Erik was even more so. For the first time, he'd seen what she'd been trying to hide: the fangs that extended slightly below her lip.

"Now do you see?" She leaned in and nuzzled his neck, her voice a low, sensual purr. "Now do you understand how good we can be with each other?" Erik, however, was backing away from her, his eyes looking over her face as if he'd never seen her before.

"What _are_ you?" The whispered words were ripped from his mouth before he ever gave consideration to how they sounded. Here was this gorgeous woman begging to be his and his mind was screaming at him to run, that she wasn't even human. Christine flinched as if he'd struck her.

"I expected so much more from you." Her tortured whisper lingered in the air long after she'd fled his home, the tunnels, and the opera house.

**xxxx**

Erik stood in the doorway of his home long after Christine had fled, trying to understand all that had happened. Unless his eyes had been playing tricks on him, he thought he'd seen _fangs_ on the beautiful girl who'd professed love for him. Fangs! He shook his head as he tried to make sense of the strange evening. She'd claimed to have felt his birth; that she had seen him the night of the inaugural performance. How could that be possible unless she was something less than human? Running a hand over his hair, he felt the distorted uneven flesh of his right cheek and his heart thudded to a stop. Less than human? Who was he to make such a distinction when he'd been called a monster or worse for the entirety of his life? Determined to find answers, Erik slid on the mask and grabbed his cloak and fedora. He needed to find out where Christine lived. They needed to talk, really talk this time.

After an hour of pacing Madame Giry's small office, he had no more answers than he had before. Christine didn't reside in the dormitories and the address she'd given was of a second-rate theater in a questionable side of Paris: Le Théâtre de Mystère. Dawn was breaking when Meg joined them and provided a little more information but not enough to find the girl easily. She said that Christine had mentioned having a roommate from Russia named Tasha but that was all she knew. Defeated, Erik wandered the opera house aimlessly in hopes she would return for rehearsals. She did not. A message was delivered by courier stating that a family emergency had called her away and she would not be returning. Before he left the building, the masked man cornered the poor lad who'd brought the message and was told that he'd been hired by someone at the Mystère to carry the letter.

That night, the Opera Ghost of the Académie Nationale chose to haunt a different theater. He watched the production from his unseen position in the flies and was pleasantly surprised at the quality. No shrieking divas with constant temper tantrums here. While the principals and chorus may not have been excellent, none were terrible either. The show itself, however, was more surprising than even the level of talent and professionalism portrayed by the actors. It was a rather morbid piece about the Greek tragic love of Hades and Persephone and how he'd tricked her into spending part of her time in the Underworld. He was unable to note several things that could be improved in the production, from the atrocious violinist who gave credence to the thought that the beautiful instrument sometimes sounded like stomping a cat to the lead soprano whose breath control needed work so she could hold her notes longer and clearer. As intriguing as the show was, there was no sign of Christine Daaé.

Erik waited until the last of the stage lights had been doused before he descended from his perch. His feet had silently touched the floor when one of the spot lights flared to life, illuminating him in the darkened theater. He froze, momentarily blinded by the intense light, and then dove to the side behind one of the curtains, cursing his carelessness. The spotlight dimmed and then was extinguished, draping the stage in total darkness once more.

"Monsieur," an accented female voice reverberated around the theater and he smirked slightly at having his own gift of ventriloquism used against him, "from your clothing, I doubt you're a mere thief so I must ask what brings you to the Mystère?"

"I am looking for someone, Mademoiselle. We have unfinished business." Now that the spots were gone from his vision from the sudden light, Erik looked warily around him for some indication of the location of the voice.

"She no longer wishes to be found by you, Monsieur. Let her have what peace she can until you _die_ and finally free her from the bond you rejected." The coldness in the female voice brought a shudder to even the infamous Opera Ghost. He had a feeling that, not only would he get no help from this woman, but she'd be more than happy if his death occurred sooner rather than later.

"I rejected nothing! I can't reject what I don't understand, Mademoiselle, and she left before it could be explained." The chuckle from the disembodied voice caused the hairs on his arm to stand on end.

"Did you really expect her to remain after calling her a monster, Monsieur, a _thing_? What I can't comprehend is how you, of all people, would dare to say such a thing. You, the gypsy child with the voice of an angel and the face of a devil, the trap-door lover, the master assassin; you had the unmitigated gall to look that beautiful, kind-hearted girl in the eyes and call _her_ a monster! If I didn't know the pain it would cause her, Monsieur, I would cut you down where you stand and not lose a single second of sleep over it."

Erik had nothing to say in reply for the woman was correct; he had been all those things and more. If he couldn't still taste the sweetness of her kiss on his lips, he would do as this unknown female bid and stay away from Christine. Now that he knew the feel, the smell, the taste of her, he was not going to let her go.

**xxxx**

Sitting in the little office of the Mystère, Christine sipped from a warm mug and waited for Tasha to finish locking up. She was in no great hurry to return to their little apartment in the Rue di Rivoli; all that awaited her there were a pair of suitcases she'd packed earlier and placed by the door. She could no longer remain in Paris with her potential mate so very close and yet so unattainable so she was leaving in the morning for her home in Sweden. She dreaded the empty days ahead; days that would haunt her with memories of that amazing kiss followed by his disgust and rejection of her. When she'd fled the Académie Nationale de Musique, she was so hysterical that Tatiana had trouble comprehending her words. Once she did, however, she had to be restrained from harming the human that had dared to hurt her friend so terribly. Before the show that night, Tasha had helped her pack and secure train tickets out of Paris.

When the last of the lights were extinguished, Christine rose to meet her friend at the exit and say her final goodbyes. Then, one of the spotlights focused on a lone figure on the stage and struggled against the urge to go to him. She listened to Tasha berate her mate and felt his anger and confusion. She could not forgive so easily but perhaps she could give him his answers so he would leave her in peace. As much as the bond pulled, she'd not beg him to be hers. Decision made, Christine joined Tasha in the lighting booth.

"Ask your questions, Monsieur, and I will answer though I have a question of my own." Erik stiffened behind the curtain at the sound of that perfect voice, the one that he'd heard in his dream for years.

"Perhaps we could converse in a more conventional manner, Mademoiselle Daaé? I am uneasy bellowing my questions into the darkness for all to hear."

"This will be sufficient. There is no one in the theater but us three. Now, my question: what is your name?" Christine wasn't about to let him get that close to her again for fear of another rejection.

"I go by many names, Mademoiselle. I am the Devil's Child, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom, and Don Juan. Which would you prefer?"

"I would prefer a straight answer," her annoyance was very obvious, "and your name. The one given to you by your parents, written on your certificate of birth, and recorded in the journals of the church in which you were baptized."

"I wasn't given a name by the man who sired me and my mother died spitting my hideous self into the world. I have no birth certificate nor was I baptized; however, I was registered in the church's books as Erik St. John." Stepping onto the dark stage once more, Erik scanned the seats and boxes looking for Christine. "Now, a question of my own, Mademoiselle: what is this thing you call our 'bond'?"

"Just like the sun has its moon and the day has its night, each one of my kind has at least one perfect mate. We know when our mate is born; we feel when they die. It is a link that goes beyond companionship, beyond love. It is…it is two souls bound together in perfect harmony. It's hard to explain, like explaining the color red to a blind man." She ended on a sigh, not sure how to explain to this human what simply _was_. "It calls the two souls together in an effort to make both whole once more. It is why I can feel when you're near and, when you are close, I can feel your moods. Some are able to speak without words with their mates but I can only do so in times of great stress."

"Very well. You speak of your kind as if you were something more than human."

"More or less…it depends on who you ask, I suppose. I was born and traveled with my father for less than a score of years before I bonded with my first mate and made the Transition. I can trust you with nothing further at the moment, Monsieur St. John. That is for your safety as well as mine."

"That is not an answer, Mademoiselle." Now it was Erik's turn to be annoyed.

"I fear it's the only one you shall get. Is there anything else for I need my sleep? I have a train to catch in the morning. Distance is the only thing that will ease the pain of an unsealed bond."

"You're leaving Paris?" _No!_ He couldn't lose her now that he was beginning to understand.

"I must, Monsieur. Surely you can feel it, too?" Christine sounded close to tears and Erik knew that if he let her leave in the morning, he'd probably never see her again.

"I do feel it, Mademoiselle, and I wish to understand it. Stay and teach me?"

There was a flurry of heated discussion in the lighting box but the masked man was too far away to comprehend the words. The owner of the disembodied voice sounded extremely angry while Christine remained somewhat calm. After several minutes, it was the other's voice that replied.

"She will stay but there is a condition that pertains to you, Monsieur."

"Which is…?" He asked warily. Conditions were generally never good.

"You will stay here, at the Mystère, and provide…shall we call it artistic direction…while the two of you come to terms with this relationship. I want you where I can see you, Monsieur. Christine may trust you; I, however, do not."

"Preposterous! My home is at the Académie Nationale de Musique. They are rehearsing for _Hannibal_ and those two fools who manage my theater will bring disaster without my guidance."

"Then say your farewells tonight, Monsieur, for tomorrow she will be on that train." There was a long silence as Erik chafed at being manipulated and forced from his home.

"If that is your price, Mademoiselle, then so be it." Unconsciously, he echoed the words Christine had uttered during her meeting with Madame Giry while looking for him. "I must see to a few things at the opera house but will return here before dawn. If that is acceptable?" His voice was mocking but Tasha merely laughed.

"Quite, Monsieur. Upon the mantle over the exit to the west is a key that opens the door below it. Take it and return as soon as possible so we can get you situated in your new quarters." Without another word, Erik turned for the exit his cloak billowing out behind him like the wings of a giant bat or raven.


	13. Chapter 13

_1886_

Erik returned to the Académie Nationale de Musique in a foul temper. It had been years since he'd left his underground home for more than a few hours and now this unknown female wanted him to stay at a second-rate opera house for an indeterminate amount of time! He'd be without his books, his inventions, his music! No, he wouldn't do it. And yet the thought of losing Christine when there was even the slightest chance she would be with him… Without realizing it, he'd made his way through the tunnels to the mirror in Cecile's office. Sliding it open soundlessly, he entered and took a seat in front of her desk and waited for her to notice him.

"Erik!" The ballet mistress, startled to look up and discover the Opera Ghost facing her, jumped with a hand over her heart as if to prevent it from running off in terror. "I believe I've told you not to do that! Use a door and for God's sake knock next time!"

"I need your help, maman."

Shocked to hear Erik admitting that he needed help from anyone, Madame Giry kept the rest of her scolding to herself and listened. Her adopted son gave her an abbreviated version of what had happened at the Mystère along with their _request_ for him to remain there. Cecile, hoping that he had found someone who would care for him in spite of his deformity, surprised and upset him by agreeing with the ladies.

"You spend far too much time alone, Erik, skulking about the opera house, scaring my girls, and playing at being a ghost. It sounds like an ideal situation to me. You'd be able to influence a production openly and without threats while getting to know Mademoiselle Daaé. You can take some of your books, your music is all in your head, and they will have instruments there. It's a rare, and unsuccessful, opera house that doesn't have at least one or two instruments." Seeing that he still was unconvinced, Cecile played to his greatest weakness. "The chance of finding someone who will love you as you deserve always comes with risks and compromises, son. The question is whether you think it's worth it." Without responding, Erik rose from the chair and slipped through the mirror into the tunnels. Cecile smiled, knowing he would go home to pack, and prayed he'd find happiness.

Rummaging through his home, Erik found a battered suitcase and began to meticulously fold and place his clothing inside. In a small compartment, he added a variety of masks, some blank staff paper, ink, several quills, as well as some of his better work. He stared at the portfolio that held his Don Juan for many minutes before deciding to leave it. From the bathroom, he gathered simple toiletries as well as a medical kit containing some of his tinctures that were most commonly needed. Finally, he grabbed a smaller bag for a few books he'd not yet read as well as a few favorites. Taking one last look around his home, Erik extinguished the candelabra, picked up his bags, and exited through the Rue Scribe. He arrived at the Mystère a few hours before dawn and let himself in with the key. Standing just inside the door, waiting for him, was a woman unfamiliar to him though he guessed she was the disembodied voice of earlier.

"You came back." Her voice and manner told him she wasn't particularly thrilled that he had. "Very well. I'm Tatiana Alekseyeva, half-owner of the Mystère, and I'll be more than pleased to rid the world of your worthless carcass if you hurt my friend again. Do we have an understanding, Monsieur?" Erik narrowed his eyes and barely held his tongue at this child's impertinence. Tasha could feel his fury rolling off him in waves.

"Quite, Mademoiselle Alekseyeva. You would do well, however, to worry for your own future should you cross me too many times. Only Mademoiselle Daaé's incomprehensible fondness for you has stayed my hand thus far." He hissed angrily, doubtful that this slip of a girl would prove much of a challenge should it come to that. Her only reply was a smirk which fed his anger and he simmered as she led him to the room he was to have at the theater.

Tasha knew not to underestimate the Opera Ghost; she'd heard many stories of his exploits in Persia and had no wish to test her preternatural abilities against his. She wasn't about to let him believe he could run roughshod over her friend's emotions, however. As they came to the room Christine insisted he have, Julien's old room, she reached over the lintel for the key and unlocked the door. She waved him into the room with a mocking bow and followed to place the key on a dresser.

"I was all for giving you a corner in the wine cellar but Christine insisted on this room. Rehearsals begin at 0800 on the main stage and will run longer than usual as there is no performance tonight. For this first day, I want you to remain hidden so that the performers won't be trying to impress. That will give you a better idea of their strengths and weaknesses than if they were to change their routine." Erik nodded, impressed she'd think of such a thing. "I'll leave you, then. The kitchen opens at 0500 but I'd advise you to arrive before the 0630 rush. Goodnight Monsieur and don't make me regret this." With that, Tasha left the room and closed the door firmly behind her. Making her way up to her office where Christine awaited, she thought of the strange and dangerous man she'd allowed into her theater. She was hoping she'd not regret his presence in more ways than one.

"Did he return, Tash?" Christine nearly pounced on her the moment she walked into the room. She chuckled softly and hugged her.

"Yes, my dear, he did. He's in your Julien's room now. Did you want to see him tonight or…?" The brunette shook her head, chewing her lip as she thought.

"No. I think I can wait until rehearsal tomorrow. I'm going to head back to the apartment to feed and rest. Are you coming?" Tatiana nodded and together the ladies left the theater to the tender mercies of its new ghost.

**xxxx**

The masked man prowled the new theater to learn its layout as well as to familiarize himself with all the exits. Thinking of his new 'position,' Erik grabbed his sketch pad and a charcoal pencil to make notes of the obvious flaws with the inanimate objects before he began on the living ones later that morning. Erik reluctantly admitted to feeling some excitement at influencing a production directly and knowing his suggestions would at least be listened to. He entered the prop room to look at the quality of the set pieces and was appalled at their condition. Paint was flaking off some, a few were beginning to show damage from rats or termites, while others were simply of such low quality the designers and builders should be run out of the city. The costumes weren't much better. Simple dresses and suits purchased in second-rate tailor shops that had been haphazardly altered to fit into almost any opera, they lacked flair or originality. The lot of them should be scrapped for polishing rags.

As he climbed into the orchestra pit, the condition of the instruments was a personal insult to a musician of his caliber. The violin whose owner had tormented during the previous night's performance bore the signs of negligence while several of the brass instruments were beginning to tarnish. Did these people have no pride in their art? The piano was in dire need of tuning (which he planned to do after breakfast) and if they didn't replace several of the bars in their xylophone, they were going to break soon. Dismal, unforgivable conditions! The conductor should be fired. No, beaten and _then_ fired. By the time the kitchen opened, Erik had filled three and a half sheets with his fine handwriting and was now dreading rehearsal.

Tasha and Christine entered the office at 0700 and were shocked to see Erik leaning back in the chair with his boots propped up on the desk. The black half-mask couldn't conceal the smirk on his face at their surprise as they tried to determine how he'd entered the room when the door had been locked when they came in. Wanting nothing more than to slap the smugness from her friend's mate's face, the Russian stepped forward and knocked his feet off _her_ desk with a scowl. Instead of exploding in a fit of anger, which she'd half expected, the gesture had only caused him to chuckle. Gracefully rising from the chair – uncoiling, thought Tasha spitefully – he laid the sheets he'd filled during the pre-dawn hours onto the desk.

"Good morning, ladies," he gave them both a slight bow but took Christine's hand in his and laid the softest of kisses upon her skin. "I fear your theater needs some work, Mademoiselles. I've recorded my observations and suggestions for your perusal and would be pleased to discuss it in detail if there are any questions." Tasha read over the first page and was reluctantly impressed.

"Perhaps during the lunch break, Monsieur?" Christine asked, her eyes never straying from him as if afraid he would disappear if she looked away.

"That would be most acceptable, Mademoiselle Daaé. Now, did you have a place for me to observe your rehearsals unnoticed?"

"Of course, if you will accompany us?" She smiled up at him as she took his arm. Tasha scowled but kept the papers as she led the way to the manager's box. Once there, she maneuvered to sit between them. She excused her actions by knowing that their ghost needed to pay more attention to rehearsals than to his potential mate. Tasha would never admit to being jealous of his hold over her friend. She needn't have worried for his focus was solely on the stage the moment the musicians began warming up.

Christine watched her human mate as he filled page after page with his small print. Goodness, was the show really that bad? When Tasha left to more closely oversee the rehearsal, the soprano moved into the seat beside Erik in an effort to read his notes. She was surprised to see that they weren't as scathing as she had expected. Most of his initial remarks concerned the talent, or lack thereof, of the musicians in the orchestra. She felt bad for the violinist but agreed with her mate's assessment. He really was rather dreadful. From what she could see, he'd written little about the ballerinas but filled an entire page with nothing but criticism of the lead soprano. The lead tenor fared little better. Their discussion should prove interesting at lunchtime.

Interesting was putting it mildly. Tatiana nearly had a stroke at the many pages of notes taken during the first half of rehearsals while Erik sat with a faint smirk on his face. Christine was worried they may well come to blows and she really didn't want to have to take sides. Calming her friend while shooting a glare at her smug mate, she started going over each point to determine which needed to be dealt with immediately and which could wait. By the time the break was over, and after a heated argument, Erik had reluctantly agreed to talk with the conductor and orchestra if they would remain after rehearsal, Tatiana had agreed to arrange for the principals to remain after rehearsals the next day, and Christine had a raging headache. As they walked back to the manager's box, all she could think was: _this is only the first day!_

The rest of rehearsal passed without incident and the actors filed out to go to dinner or home. Once they had all left, Erik emerged from the shadows to approach the orchestra pit to speak with the musicians. They gawked and whispered about the masked man but, at a stern look from both of the owners of the opera house and a fierce scowl from Erik, they settled down somewhat. It was a struggle to maintain his temper until the whispers and murmurs faded into silence. It was only by the light touch of Christine's hand on his arm that kept him from storming off the stage and away from their curious stares. As he addressed the orchestra, most recognized his passion for music as well as his knowledge and no longer stole surreptitious glances at the ominous black half-mask. The pianist was the first to cast aside prejudice and accept him once it was learned that this was the man who'd tuned his instrument. An older man, he no longer had the strength or agility to do it himself and was most grateful to have it in fine order once more. The violinist wasn't as pleased and protested being scorned by this unknown person. Erik, already frustrated from butting heads with Tasha and being stared at like a circus freak, grabbed the nearest violin and played the most astoundingly haunting melody any had ever heard. The conductor was in awe, Christine was in tears, and the violinist not only ceased his complaints but asked for pointers. Now, the members of the orchestra were eager to learn how to play with anything remotely close to Erik's level of expertise. They weren't as eager to thoroughly take apart and clean their instruments as he instructed.

"Music is more than a collection of notes on paper. If you play while believing that, it will remain as dead as that paper and you will never be able to give it life. You have to let the music touch you; you have to feel it for it to transcend the mediocre. To love something that deeply, to feel it so intensely, you must cherish it in every way. One way to do that is to know your instrument. I don't mean the basics of knowing how to play; a trained monkey can learn to play basic notes. You need to truly get to know it so that if it were placed in a pile of similar pieces you could immediately tell which is yours. The better you know and treat your instrument, the better it will treat you and the music will reflect this."

The very obvious passion for music in his voice impressed both Tatiana as well as the musicians. As they began working on their instruments, Erik was there with them giving advice and showing them the best way to tend to flaws such as tarnish and poorly rosined strings. His vast skill and knowledge of each piece had them all hanging on his every word. Once they had completed their maintenance, he had them run through one of the songs again and already they could detect a slight improvement. By the end of the session, their gratitude was immense and each stopped to personally thank the masked man for his help before they filed out. Erik watched the last leave with a dazed expression on his face.

"Well, Maestro. I think that went well, don't you?" Tatiana smirked at his surprise.

"They didn't ask about the mask." Erik turned confused eyes on the two women. "They acted like I was…normal. They _listened_."

"Not all humans are irrational, superstitious idiots, Monsieur. Some actually recognize and respect brilliance no matter the packaging." Tasha hugged Christine and gathered her things. "I'm going to Le Rossignol for dinner since there isn't a show tonight, Chris. Will I see you later?"

"I don't know," her soft brown eyes drank in the form of her mate. "Perhaps." The Russian merely chuckled and left them alone in the theater. The silence dragged awkwardly between them until finally Erik gently took her hand and led her to his temporary quarters.

Memories of this room flooded Christine the moment she entered: her first night with Julien, her internal struggle over her first feed, that first month of her new life while she learned to adjust to the Transition. Oh how she missed him and his wisdom! Erik watched the emotions flit across her face as she looked, unseeing, around the room. Her thoughts were far away, either by miles or by years, and he waited for her to return to the here and now before offering her a seat. When she realized he was waiting on her, she blushed prettily and apologized while taking the seat he offered. Once more the silence grew between them as neither knew quite how to address their particular situation.

"Erik?" Christine felt ridiculous – this was her mate, after all – but wasn't certain of his motives in bringing her here. "I…um…where did you learn so many instruments?" Silently, she berated herself for such a stupid question.

"I was largely self-taught, Christine." She shivered as her name rolled from his lips and unconsciously moved closer to him. Reaching out a tentative hand, he gently smoothed a curl from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Something inside him flared to life when she leaned into his hand and he curved it along her cheek with a soft caress. "So, what happens now, my dear?" Erik's murmur caressed her ears while her skin tingled beneath his fingers.

"Whatever you wish, my beloved mate," Hesitantly, she mirrored his actions and brought her hand to his bare cheek to feel the cool, smooth skin. His eyes closed as he savored her tender touch. Had he ever known such gentleness before now?

"And what would you say," Erik opened his eyes and she gasped at their golden brilliance, "if I wished to kiss you, Christine?"

"Well," she smiled hopefully, her brown eyes gaining a faint red tint of anticipated desire, "I would ask…whatever are you waiting for, Erik?" Gently, she slid her hand from his cheek to the nape of his neck to pull him slowly towards her waiting lips. They were only breaths apart when he hesitated, giving her time to change her mind, before softly pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was chaste, just the merest brushing of flesh, though both ached for more. Erik, uninitiated in the art of love, was uncertain of how to proceed; but when Christine closed the distance between them and brushed the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips, he was lost. With a groan, he gathered her tightly against his chest, one hand tangled in her silken curls as he plundered her mouth. The rough texture of his misshapen lips sent jolts of electricity through her body and she eased from her chair to curl up onto his lap. Startled at finding his arms full of warm, beautiful female, Erik froze for a moment before wrapping her tightly in his arms. Leaving the succulent taste of her lips only to lay a fiery trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck, he echoed her moan of pleasure. When her fingers slipped under his jacket to feel the muscles beneath his shirt, he knew they had to slow down before he frightened her by tearing off the many layers of material that separated skin from skin. With great effort, Erik tried to regain some semblance of control over his lust.

"You must tell me to stop," his gorgeous voice, as smooth and flowing as molten gold, was hoarse with desire as he nipped her neck and savored the moan she couldn't contain. He pressed her closer to his body so she could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against her thigh. Even as he fought to release her, one hand caressed up her side to brush against the swell of her breast and she arched her back into his hand. "I can't...you have to stop me. If you don't, Christine, then I'll take you and I'll never give you up. You'll be mine forever." Leaning back slightly, he took in her flushed face, unnaturally red eyes, and the fangs she quickly hid from his sight. As his mouth descended towards hers again, he whispered against her lips. "Tell me to stop." In the minute space left between them, she whispered a single word as her reply before kissing him deeply.

"No."


	14. Chapter 14

_1886_

_"No."_

Stunned, he allowed her to pull him back into a long, sensual kiss while his hands learned the contours of her body. Had he ever thought he could have this? Had he ever dared to dream? She was so small, he was afraid he'd hurt her and yet he wanted nothing more than to press her against the soft cushions and ravish every luscious inch of skin he could find. Erik could feel the lustful creature inside him goading him into doing just that while something else, something he couldn't explain, was telling him she was already his just as he was hers. And yet, if he gave in to these base urges, wouldn't he then be the monster everyone professed him to be?

"You tempt me beyond reason, Christine," his long fingers tangled in her hair and pulled her back so he could look into her red-brown eyes, heavy-lidded with desire. "But I am a gentleman and I will not dishonor you so." His actions were at war with his words for even as he pulled away, his other hand kept her lower body molded close to his.

"Erik…" her whisper was a promise of all his fantasies come to life as she brought her hands up to unknot his tie. "Where is the dishonor when I want you as much as you want me? Stop fighting this; stop fighting us." She dropped the useless strip of cloth to the floor and slowly began to unbutton his shirt to reveal the smooth pale skin it hid. Nuzzling her face into the sensitive juncture where neck meets shoulder, Christine practically purred her approval. Button after button slid through tiny holes until only his arms and shoulders held the material to his powerful frame. When her hands pressed against the bare skin of his chest, Erik felt his brain misfire.

"Chrissstine," his hiss of a sharply indrawn breath ended on a moan as the petite brunette caressed his skin. Her hands rose to his shoulders to slowly remove the offensive piece of cloth. Leaving his arms trapped behind him, Christine kissed and nibbled along his neck and shoulder.

"Erik…mate…beloved," she moaned softly against his skin, "I want to taste you. Please." She nipped his neck a bit harder but didn't pierce the skin as she longed to do. She wanted to do nothing that would push him away again.

When he remained silent other than his labored breathing, Christine was disappointed but not surprised. He would learn to accept what she was one day. Holding onto that hope, she lowered her head to kiss along the wiry muscles of his chest. Thin he may be but the muscles in those long limbs rippled under her lips and fingers. Flicking out her tongue, she lapped at her prize, the tiny nub of his nipple, and reveled in his low, guttural moan. Nipping it lightly, she teased the small bead of flesh until there was a loud ripping sound and suddenly his hands were free. Ragged scraps of his ruined shirt hung from his wrists as he scooped her up and dropped her on his bed. Erik gave her no time to recover as he followed her descent to lay his lean body along hers and press her to the mattress. His hand tangled in her hair and jerked her face none-too-gently up to his to allow him easy access to her warm, eager mouth. As he rolled them so she lay atop him, his nimble fingers worked at the hooks of her gown eager to touch her silky smooth skin.

Neither was certain how the rest of their clothing was removed for they were lost in their passion. That first feel of skin against skin had them both gasping at the utter _rightness_ they felt. Erik, though uninitiated in the ways of love, had a vast library as well as an unerring instinct for what to do. Hearing Christine's whimpers and moans of pleasure because of the touch of _his_ hands, the feel of _his_ misshapen lips on her perfect skin, very nearly ended the night before it began. The softness of her breast in his hand, the erotic wetness his exploring fingers encountered between her legs, the taste of her mouth as he savagely plundered it with his tongue were overwhelming in their intensity and only his famous control kept him from embarrassing himself. His mate, knowing he was hanging on by the merest of threads, smiled saucily and wrapped her small hand around his throbbing shaft and squeezed gently. His entire body shook from the effort to maintain control; control that was lost the moment she began to stroke him while suckling his ear. With a shout, Erik thrust into her hand before quickly covering her fingers with his warm seed. Ashamed at his lack of control, he would have rolled away from her but Christine never released her hold on him. Leaning back to gaze into his eyes, her free hand guided the fingers that lingered just beyond her womanhood to learn the secrets of her body.

Erik watched her face with wonder as his fingers teased along the wet folds before barely brushing the small, sensitive nub that hid within. At her gasp, he teased and pinched and rubbed the center of her pleasure amazed at her response. Christine writhed and moaned and arched against his hand, begging for something just beyond her reach. Keeping his thumb on that piece of flesh, he slid one long finger deep into her hot, wet core. Her reaction was immediate and she bucked beneath him as she cried out her release. The feel of her inner muscles contracting and gripping his finger was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt. Tears of wonder and awe seeped from beneath his mask as he recovered from their simulated acts of love. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Erik buried his masked face in her hair and wept as Christine ran her fingers lightly through his hair and along the muscles of his back.

"Now do you understand, my beloved mate?" Her whispered breath tickled his ear. "Only together will we feel whole." Erik raised his head slightly and gazed into her eyes which were a soft doe-brown once more.

"Yes…I believe I do." The fingers of one trembling hand traced the line of her jaw to her lips before sliding into the riot of curls that tumbled down her back. As he drank in the sight of the beautiful woman who'd given him more than he'd ever dared to dream, and who seemed prepared to give him even more besides, he ventured to pose a question of his own. "Christine. You mentioned earlier wanting to taste…?"

"Don't worry about that, Erik," She smiled but there was a hint of longing lurking in her eyes. "I believe I've pushed you enough for now."

"Will you explain what you meant?"

"Do you accept our bond?" Christine prayed the answer was yes for she wasn't sure she could let him go if he refused her again.

"How could I not?" His smile was beautiful to behold and she fought tears of relief. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known, my dear, and you've given me a gift that is beyond compare. Right now I feel more whole than I ever have before."

"Thank you," her eyes closed briefly as she gathered her courage to tell him the truth about herself. "Though it will tear me apart, if you wish to leave after I've told you my tale I won't hold you here." When he would have protested, she laid her fingers over his lips to stop his words. Replacing her fingers with a gentle kiss, Christine sighed and began her story.

She left nothing out. Beginning with the year of her birth and the death of her mother, she told of her father's blame and neglect until he heard her voice. She spoke of their travels where he played for the 'angel' who'd come to sing for him. Her father's madness eventually forced her to take control of their traveling and, since she had been feeling the call to France, they made their way to the small port town of Perros. After her father's death, she traveled to Paris and met Julien. Glancing up at Erik only briefly, she chewed her lip and told him of the bond she'd sealed with her first mate, meeting Count St. Claire, their lives together, feeling Erik's birth, and mourning Julien's death. The intervening years had been spent traveling the world either looking for him or escaping his pull. Now that they were together at last, Christine felt at peace for the first time in decades.

"Christine." Erik gently nudged under her chin to force her eyes to meet his. "I'm not quite certain I understand, my angel."

"There are many myths and legends about my kind and yet there are many lies interwoven in the truth. I have a reflection, can walk around in the light of day, and am quite pleased to attend Mass regularly when my schedule permits. I cannot, however, change into a bat or mist or anything equally absurd nor do I swoop down on unsuspecting humans and drain them of their blood until they die. There are…rules against such things and we tend to police our own." She had allowed her eyes to drift from his as she spoke for she didn't want to see the horror on his face as he realized just what lay on the bed beside him. "You must know that I would rather die a thousand deaths rather than hurt you, my mate, whether the bond is sealed or not. You have accepted it without knowing or understanding what I am. Now that you do, all I ask is that, if you leave me, please…let me live in peace."

The silence grew thick between them as Erik came to terms with what she'd told him and Christine listened for the rustle of cloth that signaled he was preparing to leave. When he pulled away, she felt her unbeating heart break and rolled onto her side so he wouldn't see her monstrous blood-red tears as he dressed. She waited for the door to close behind him so that she could give in to her misery but the longer he took, the harder it was to contain until she was alone. For the first time since entering her Second Transition, Christine was ashamed of what she'd become. Erik was a lean and handsome, musically gifted genius of a man; there was no way he'd associate with a monster like her. Lost as she was in her self-loathing, she never noticed he'd placed his mask on the bedside table and returned to her side until his arms snaked around her waist to pull her back against his warm chest. She stiffened in his embrace and made a half-hearted attempt to break free.

"Shush, mon ange, and let me hold you." Erik buried his unmasked face into her hair, glorying in the feel of its silky curls against the entirety of his damaged and deformed skin. He was having trouble believing that she was what she said: a vampire, if he was correct. She was a creature of myth but also a warm, lovely girl who claimed to love him. How was he to reconcile the two images? He could feel the tremors shake her petite frame as she wept out her fear of losing him and was stunned that she'd care so much for a monster such as he. "Christine, it will take me some time to grow accustomed to believing that not all myths are mere fantasy. Forgive me for my many questions that are to come; however, I am not willing to lose you now that I have you in my arms. Help me to understand, mon ange."

Christine turned in his arms to stare at him in wide-eyed wonder, her face covered in the red streaks of her tears. Wrapping her arms around him tightly, she told him he could ask whatever questions he needed as long as he remained by her side. As the clock ticked and their tears dried, the pair of mates – one human, one not – fell asleep in each others' arms praying that they'd not wake alone.

**xxxx**

The sun had yet to rise when the first of the occupants of the bed began to stir. Golden eyes stared in confusion at the press of warm, naked female flesh along the length of his body and the tangle of silky curls that were draped across his bare chest until the events of the previous night rushed back. Erik carefully rolled onto his side so that he could gaze down at the pale, brown-haired goddess that lay naked in his bed. As he remembered the taste of her lips and the sound of her crying his name in the throes of passion, his body hummed to life with an aching, insistent need. Peeling back the thin sheet that hid her from his hungry eyes, he slowly ran his hand down the length of her body. She was so soft, so smooth, so tantalizingly beautiful. His fingers barely brushed her skin and he watched as she instinctively turned towards him. A slight sound drew his attention and, as he looked down, he was momentarily shocked at the unnatural redness of her eyes. Instantly, Christine closed her eyes in despair and rolled away from him and off the bed.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, I'd expected to be awake and…and gone by now. Forgive me." She was babbling and she knew it but couldn't stop herself. Grabbing her dress, she threw it over her head and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders to hide the fact that she hadn't taken the time to fasten it. Picking up her scattered undergarments, she'd almost made it to the door before Erik had snapped out of his shock and wrapped his arms around her waist to stop her. "No, please, I won't waste any more of your time. I'm sure you have a lot to do and I really need to get back home and change and…" _and totally break down into hysterics_, she added silently and desperately as she struggled against his iron grip, "…and finalize everything so that…"

"Enough." Erik's voice was soft but commanding and Christine stuttered into silence. Reaching around her, he removed the bundle of clothing from her stiff fingers and tossed it to the floor. Letting his hands rest on her tiny waist, he slowly glided them up her torso, over her breasts causing her to gasp softly, and then to the clasp that held the cloak in place. He quickly untied and removed the offending material and it soon joined the pile. Gently nudging her hair from her neck, he kissed the sensitive spot just below her ear as his hands moved to her shoulders and began to slide the dress off. As it hovered on the edge of falling to her feet, he nipped her neck softly. "You, my dear, are going no where other than back into that bed. I failed in my duties last night to worship every inch of your glorious body as you so dearly deserve; I must correct my error."

The dress fell to the floor with a gentle whoosh yet Christine remained silent and still. She was so afraid that the slightest movement or a single misspoken word would remind him of the monster lurking beneath the attractive exterior and recoil from her once more. When gentle hands turned her to face him, she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor knowing that her desire and hunger to taste him kept her eyes a shocking blood red. She'd repulsed him once already this morning with her inhumanness; she'd not do so again if she could prevent it. The fingers that gently tapped beneath her chin and raised her face to his tightened almost painfully when she tried to jerk away so Christine had to settle for closing her eyes. Erik, unhappy that she refused to look at him and confused as to why she was insistent upon leaving, caressed her cheek softly.

"What's wrong, my angel?"

"Nothing." Even his keen hearing nearly missed her whispered word so she took a steadying breath and tried again. "Nothing's wrong, my beloved mate. I…I'd just rather keep my eyes closed for now." Instantly, Erik stepped away from her, his eyes darkening as he grabbed his trousers. Of course she didn't want to open her eyes and see his hideous face! He was a fool.

"My apologies, Mademoiselle Daaé. I realize it was unpleasant to awaken to such a monstrous sight but I assure you it shall not happen again."

"What?" That did make her eyes snap open and she was dismayed to see that he was almost fully dressed, mask in place, and pained anger in his eyes. "You don't understand, Erik. That's not it at all!"

"Of course it is." Wrapping his Opera Ghost persona around him like a sheltering cloak, he towered imperiously over her petite form. "No one wants to wake to find themselves in bed with disgusting creature."

"Exactly! That's why I was leaving…so that you…"

"I knew it! You profess love and yet you try to run the moment you realize what you've done." Erik's fury scared and confused her. Why was he so angry that she was only making sure he didn't have to see what she was?

"What? No! I do love you! You know that…it's just…"

"It's just that you came to your senses when you saw the monster in your bed?" He interrupted sarcastically.

"No, dammit! I came to my senses when _YOU_ remembered the monster beside you!" The silence that fell between them was terrible and Christine bent down to grab her cloak with shaking hands, wrapping it around her naked body like a shield.

* * *

_A/N: Ah the joys of miscommunication :D For those who are still reading, I thank you! All comments are appreciated but flames will be used to roast marshmallows._


	15. Chapter 15

_1886_

"_No, dammit! I came to my senses when YOU remembered the monster beside you!" The silence that fell between them was terrible and Christine bent down to grab her cloak with shaking hands, wrapping it around her naked body like a shield._

Erik stared at her in shock as his anger drained away. How could she say such a thing? Looking at her huddled form, her face averted in an effort to hide her tears, he wondered what had brought this on. Cautiously approaching her, he hated himself when she flinched away from his hand as if she expected him to strike her. Good God, he'd never struck a woman in his life! Slowly, gently, he pulled her from the floor into his arms and cradled her head against his chest.

"Why, Christine? Why would you call yourself a monster when you are the most beautiful of angels?"

"I…" Biting her lip, she shook her head and addressed the less painful portion of his question. "I'm no angel, Erik."

Scooping her into his arms, he laid her upon the bed and quickly followed, pulling her flush against him. "Did I do or say something to upset you, my dear?" His mind worked feverishly to remember all that he'd said and done that morning but could think of nothing.

"N…no, Erik." She winced as the words faltered on her lips; she'd always been a terrible liar.

"Please don't lie to me." She tried to remain silent for she knew he would deny his disgust. However, his simple, sincere request broke through her resolve and, after several pained moments, she consented.

"You…you pulled away this morning, when I awoke. I know what you saw. In my eyes, that is. I know…I know I'm no longer fully human and I'm sorry! I'm sorry it repulses you," Christine had begun to cry again as she thought of the shock on his face and remembered his words when he first saw her fangs. "I don't know what to do. I can't change what I am; all I can do is leave you in peace so you don't have to pretend that you care for a m…monster."

Erik tightened his hold on her when she, once more, attempted to leave him. She thought that _he_ was repulsed by _her_? If it wasn't so heartbreaking it would be amusing. He struggled to remember what he'd done to make her think such a thing and finally realized she was talking about when she'd opened her eyes. Yes, it had been a shock for they had been a deep, crimson red but he hadn't felt any revulsion for her.

"Angel, look at me, please." Reluctantly, Christine wiped her face on the pillowcase to try to hide the red trails of her tears before dragging her eyes to his. She dreaded looking into his honey-gold eyes and seeing his disgust because she knew hers were still red with the intensity of her emotions. "What you saw this morning was surprise, nothing more. If there is a monster in this room, it is I for having caused you so much pain and, even when I try not to, continue to do so." Even before he was finished, she was shaking her head.

"Erik, no. I understand, really I do. It's just…it'll be hard but I'll…"

Frustrated by her insistence that he finds her abhorrent, Erik stopped her the best way he knew how: he kissed her. Holding her captive so she couldn't turn away, he demanded that she surrender to his passion and she willingly obeyed. His tongue explored every inch of her succulent mouth and, when there was nothing left to plunder, his lips moved across her face to memorize her every feature. Once she was pliant and willing in his arms, his envious hands joined his lips in conquering this beautiful and aggravating female. He pulled away the offending cloak and tossed it into corner so that his fingers could reclaim her soft, satiny curves. When he rolled over to press her against the mattress, Erik's golden orbs stared into her blood-red ones, letting her see his desire in his eyes and feel it pressing insistently against her thigh.

"You have given me more than I ever dared to dream, my angel." He whispered hoarsely as he hungrily returned his lips to her skin, trailing them hotly to the tempting peak of her breast. "I can feel your soul calling for me, and oh how beautiful is that soul! I want it…you…so badly it drives me mad just as your soft skin drives me mad. The taste of you on my lips drives me mad. And when I touch you, and you whimper my name in the heat of passion…oh, Christine, you will be the death of me." Groaning, he caught her eager, impertinent nipple between his lips and reveled in her gasp of pleasure. Licking and suckling and nipping gently, Erik worshiped at her breast with all the devotion of a heathen priest. His hand drifted down her body to ease apart her thighs and plunder the warm, wet treasure that lay there.

Dragging his mouth back to hers, Christine kissed him deeply while she arched her hips to welcome his teasing fingers. She relished the sensation of the roughness of his deformed cheek and the unusual texture of his misshapen lips against her soft skin. Whimpering softly with need, she pulled her lips from his to leave a hot trail of kisses along his jaw and down his neck. The sound of his pulse throbbing in the large vein was a siren song and she felt her fangs lengthen almost painfully. Nipping the skin lightly, she begged him for a taste, the merest drop of his life essence. Erik's whisper of "soon" nearly sent Christine over the edge and her hands joined his in removing the clothing that kept them from consummating their relationship. As scared as he was eager, Erik's nimble fingers were shaking as he struggled with the fastenings of his trousers. Rolling off his beautiful bedmate, he'd just gotten the laces untied when a loud knocking sounded at the door.

"Christine? Erik? For God's sake pace yourselves!" Tatiana's amusement was not appreciated by either occupant of the room though Christine recovered sooner and had to cover her mouth to hold in her giggles. "Rehearsals are about to break for lunch, I'd like to have company once they start up again. Don't make me come in there and get you…" Her laughter faded as she left them to their privacy once more.

Growling in frustration, Erik flung himself off the bed and adjusted his trousers. Christine rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around his stiff frame and laid a series of gentle kisses on his back. It took several moments but eventually her masked mate relaxed and turned to take her in his arms. They stood that way for a long time while each wrestled their desire under control. When his stomach rumbled to announce a different kind of hunger, it helped to relax the mood even if it did embarrass its owner. The petite brunette giggled faintly and stepped out of Erik's tempting arms, much to his displeasure. With an impish smile, Christine took her mate's hand in hers and led him to the bathroom. She started filling the generous sized tub before turning to embrace him and place random kisses on his face before claiming his lips. When the frown dropped from his face and he returned both her embrace and her kiss, she chuckled softly and snuggled against him while the tub filled.

"Once we're finished here, Erik, I'll let you go raid the kitchen while I lecture Tasha about unwelcome interruptions."

"You won't join me for lunch, Angel?" The pause that followed his question was slightly awkward as she tried to think of an acceptable explanation.

"I won't subject you to my manner of feeding." Though her voice was gentle there was an underlying thread of steel that let him know this was not negotiable. Turning to busy herself with the bath, she didn't see the look of dawning understanding that carried a hint of embarrassment. Taking his hand, she guided him into the tub and relaxed with her back against his chest with a forlorn sigh. Just when she'd forgotten what she was, he seemed to always, somehow, remind her.

"Christine," Erik's arms snaked around her waist to pull her more snugly against him. "If we are to be together, my angel, I'm certain to encounter it at some point."

"Not if I can help it." Muttering under her breath, Christine grabbed a cloth and viciously worked it into a lather. Before she could apply it to her skin, however, Erik's nimble fingers had plucked it from hers and started running it up her arms and across her naked chest where he allowed it to linger. Pressing his face into her hair and enjoying the feel of its silken softness on his deformity, he caressed her all over under the guise of aiding her with her bath. For now, he'd let this pass but they _would_ discuss it later. He would not allow her to continue to believe he was repulsed by any part of her, even the parts with which he was still coming to grips.

The slickness of soap on bare, wet skin caused the bath to take a bit longer than they'd originally planned. Giggling as she tried to avoid his roaming hands, Christine finally managed to get mostly dry so she could begin to dress. The playful pout on Erik's mismatched face nearly had her relenting to a glorious day spent in the privacy of their room and the pleasure of each others' arms. The thought of a return visit by Tasha, as well as her mate's grumbling appetite, gave her the strength to dance away from him to grab her chemise and other undergarments. Her smile, however, was full of secrets and promises for after their duties to the theater were over. An answering gleam lit Erik's golden eyes which caused an anticipatory shiver to encompass Christine. _Oh my!_ She fanned herself at the fire his gaze promised for later and prayed that rehearsals ran smoothly…and quickly.

**xxxx**

Returning to her office, Tatiana's smile at her friend and mentor's good fortune faded along with her pleasant mood. Ever since the two had come to Paris, Christine had been actively searching for her mate while she had avoided finding hers. She hadn't known it at the time but Ivan had been a careless, reckless vampire. They shared no bond with each other, at least nothing like the ones Christine had felt, though Tasha had known a certain closeness with him that went beyond mere lovers. When he died, suddenly and violently just over two months after bringing her over, she'd felt it even though miles separated them. She wasn't eager to feel that same agony again so why wouldn't this damn longing go away?

Throwing herself into the chair, she drummed her fingers on the desk as she tried to think of ways to purge the unwanted urges from both her body and mind. The temptation to seek out the human and rid the world of him was strong; equally as strong, however, was the desire to seek him out for other, far more satisfying, reasons. Groaning softly, she tried once more to push away the thoughts of this unknown human and concentrate on her theater. Christine's mate may well prove to be far more helpful than she'd originally thought and she hoped to convince him to remain in the capacity of artistic director if all turned out well for him and her friend. Tasha was sorting through possible operas to perform once the current production had ended and nothing appealed to her. She didn't want the Mystère to be just another opera house; it needed performances to match its name if it was to stand out amongst the others. She knew they couldn't compete with the Académie Nationale de Musique's funding or quality of talent as the latter followed the former but she was hoping to carve a niche for the theater as being part of the avant-garde. The works she had to choose from were daring but only in the way a drunken hooker was daring: gaudy and unapologetic licentiousness wasn't exactly the niche she wanted. Tossing several manuscripts into the garbage bin, she rose from the desk to return to rehearsals and nearly ran over Christine as she came through the office door.

"Ah, so you finally came up for air?" Tasha's teasing grin only grew when her elder blushed violently. "Now Chris, I told you to pace yourselves. Your mate is still human, you know." The brunette giggled softly as she entered what appeared to be a closet.

"True, my dear Tasha, but oh what a human!" Pressing on a certain decorative molding released the hidden door to the small kitchen where they kept their small blood stash. Christine was glad her friend joined her while she heated up a glass full of the thick liquid; she had much to tell as well as lodge a friendly complaint against Tasha's poorly timed interruption.

Barely thirty minutes passed before the pair of women entered the stage area but already Erik was there speaking to the orchestra about that night's performance. The mutinous looks on the faces of both the principal actors made it plain he hadn't kept his advice to just the musicians. Christine, knowing her mate's temper, wondered just what had occurred before they'd arrived. It wasn't too long before they were informed, very eloquently and very loudly, exactly what had riled the pair. It seemed Erik had told the female soprano that her cadenza sounded like the death throes of an alley cat while the male tenor's vocal range was as minute as his stomach was massive. Prone to agree with the content if not the delivery, Tasha asked the female lead to sing the aria that had so offended her friend's mate. During the cadenza, she noticed that Erik scowled fiercely enough to cause some of the ballet rats to take several steps back from the strange masked man. Even Christine cringed on a few of the notes and the two whispered softly before the brunette sighed, nodded, and walked onto the stage.

"Violetta, I want you to listen to Mademoiselle Daaé as she sings the aria and pay particular attention to the cadenza that has been giving you so much grief. I won't have this theater become a laughing stock simply because you think yourself above direction from a true _Maestro_." Nodding to the conductor, Tasha sat back to watch both the soprano as well as Erik for neither realized that an angel had just appeared on their stage.

From the first, pure note until her voice faded into the shocked silence, Erik could do nothing but gape at the woman who'd just recently shared his bed. Why hadn't she said anything about being able to sing? Well, she'd told him she'd sung with her father but…God, her voice! It was an exquisite, perfect instrument; the voice of an angel. _The voice of Aminta_, a wicked whisper echoed in his mind and he knew he had to finish his opera for her and her voice. The dismissive snort from the leading lady reluctantly brought his focus back to the rehearsal though he continued to dedicate part of his thoughts towards reworking the opera to suit his Christine.

"She's pretty good and she'd make a decent chorus girl but I have been singing fifteen years…"

"…and it shows." Erik's soft comment effectively stopped the singer's tirade and several of the ballerinas were hiding grins and chuckles behind their hands. "Madame, your voice _was_ good…seven or eight years ago. Unfortunately, alcohol and hashish have destroyed it."

"And what do you know?" Violetta lowered her voice to a furious whisper. "I don't have to stand here and be insulted by you just because your little whore thinks she can sing. Is that how you got her into your bed, you masked freak, by promising her a career on stage?"

"Get out." Erik had clenched his hands into fists to keep from harming the hateful woman before him and yet the suppressed fury in Christine's voice gave him a moment's pause. Even Tasha seemed surprised at the venom in her friend's interruption and stepped forward slightly in case she needed to separate the two. In any case, the younger vampire knew she'd have to diffuse the situation before the elder's eyes changed and fangs lengthened. The last thing they needed was exposure from someone who had a grudge against the theater. Idiot that she was, the human singer merely smirked at the more petite brunette.

"No. You don't run this theater and I don't take orders from a freak's whore." Faster than was normal for any human, the brunette's fist connected with Violetta's cheek and knocked her into a gawking group of ballet rats.

"I am no man's whore unlike others who started on their backs and worked their way up." Christine's scornful gaze raked along the singer's body before returning to her face, obviously unimpressed by what she saw. "As for the theater…"

"As for the theater," Tatiana decided this was as good a place as any to attempt to calm things down, "Christine is co-owner and therefore _does_ have authority here. She arranged the purchase of the share I now possess which also gives her seniority here. Just because she hasn't been a visible part of the Mystère doesn't mean she doesn't have the right to take care of problems when they occur." Stepping up beside the brunette, Tasha whispered for her to join her mate off the stage and calm down. She continued only after her friend had joined Erik near the seats. "I won't have performers who can't accept criticism without throwing a tantrum. If you think you are above improvement, then I suggest that you seek a position in an opera house where you'll be paid equal to your skill.

"Violetta, you not only refused to accept valid suggestions on how to improve but also gravely insulted Mademoiselle Daaé, my dearest friend. You will pack your things and be gone before dinner or I'll have Monsieur St. John escort you out." Erik's malicious grin at the thought of 'helping' the arrogant singer had the diva scrambling for her dressing room. "For the rest of you, Monsieur St. John is a brilliant musician, a true _maestro_ to whom you'd all be wise to listen. The matter of his mask and what it hides is a personal one and I will dismiss from the company any who wish to make a nuisance about it. Do I make myself clear?" As one, the remaining performers nodded though a few darted a final lingering glance at the masked man. A young girl of barely sixteen held up her hand and took a tentative step forward.

"Mademoiselle, who's going to sing tonight?"

"Colette, you'll be playing Persephone. Richard, will you remain to play Hades or will you storm out as well like Violetta's lapdog?" At the rotund man's assurance that he had no plans to leave, the Russian addressed the understudy once more. "Do you need a quick run through to familiarize yourself with you places and cues?" At the girl's nod, Tasha told everyone to take their places for the beginning of the opera, walked off the stage, and joined Christine and Erik in the front row.

Motioning to the conductor to begin, she leaned over to her friend and was thankful to see that she'd calmed down somewhat from the confrontation. Since Christine had come to Paris, her emotions seemed sharper and her temper was more volatile. Tasha knew her friend could be quite empathic with others of their kind and wondered how much stronger it was with a mate. Erik was a man of shifting moods and deep passions and if her friend assumed his moods, things were going to get interesting at the theater. Holding the elder's hand in hers, they watched the first act in silence. All three were satisfied with the performance of the understudy; while it wasn't as polished as the diva's, Colette's innocence and slight hesitance worked well in the role of Persephone. In a few years, the child would be an excellent addition to any opera company. During a short break between acts, Erik rose to speak to the understudy and Tasha was pleased to see that the girl was listening. The barest of touches of his hands to the small of her back, her shoulders, and stomach had Colette correcting her posture before running through a short scale. The result was immediately noticeable and the singer impulsively hugged the masked man before dancing off backstage to await her cues. Erik returned to his seat in a daze.

"As you can see, Monsieur," Tasha murmured softly, not even bothering to hide her grin, "Colette is quite eager to improve and will now be your devoted slave for helping her to do so. Seriously, though, thank you for being gentle and discreet with her. She's rather young for such a role but her dedication is impressive; I wouldn't want to see her discouraged by harsh criticism."

"She has talent, Mademoiselle Alekseyeva, which should be encouraged. I would not have been harsh, as you call it, with La Violetta had she not refused to even entertain the idea that she needed improvement on anything."

The remainder of the rehearsal was uneventful. Erik stopped it only twice: once to reinforce Colette's corrected posture and again to adjust the strings on a cello that had loosened. When everyone was satisfied, he requested the instrument to see what was causing it to loosen. He didn't want to risk it doing this again during the final performance that night. He also made a mental note to have the orchestra leave all their instruments at the theater so they could be cleaned and repaired as needed before the next opera was to go into rehearsal. As he was working on the cello, he sensed someone standing some distance away and was surprised to see that it was Tatiana. Assuming she needed to speak with Christine, he pushed her from his mind as he completed the temporary fix on the instrument. He'd have to repair it properly later but it would be fine for that night's performance. When he returned the cello to the musician, he was surprised to see that his mate had left the auditorium but the Russian had remained.

"May I help you, Mademoiselle?" Even though he wanted to find Christine, he summoned his manners.

* * *

_A/N: Oh the joys of having friends nearby to interrupt. lol Read, review, and thank you!_


	16. Chapter 16

_1886_

"I'm hoping so, Monsieur. Will you come to my office when you are done here?"

"I believe I'm finished here," Erik glanced at the orchestra before rising and motioning her to lead the way. As he followed, he wondered if he was to be reprimanded for upsetting the opera company. As the Opera Ghost, he took great pleasure in upsetting the performers at the Académie; here, he had almost grown used to being treated as a normal man.

Tatiana unlocked the office door and moved to sit behind the desk. She knew Erik had followed her in and closed the door behind her but she'd be damned if she could hear him. He was as silent as one of the kin; sometimes even more so. Motioning for him to sit, she was unsurprised when he refused and nearly chuckled. The man had more pride than a jungle full of lions. One day it was going to get him into trouble…but today was not the day.

"Monsieur St. John, please do sit for I have a proposition to make and I'd much rather make it to your face than to your…" Tasha let her eyes roam his lean body before they settled quite obviously below the waist band of his trousers. "Well, let's just say that in this matter, I'd much rather address what's above your belt than what's below." She failed to suppress a slight giggle at the surprise and rising color in the unflappable Opera Ghost as he sat rather quickly. "Much better."

"Mademoiselle, do you intend to make lewd comments or is there a purpose to this meeting?" Erik's voice was glacial which only made Tasha's grin widen. She wondered if Christine could be convinced to share her intensely passionate mate.

"Oh, very well. I wanted to speak to you of your plans once your two weeks with us are through. Will you return to haunt the Académie?"

"I haven't really given it much thought, Mademoiselle Alekseyeva, since I have only recently arrived."

"Fair enough. I do have a proposition for you. Oh sit down and stop getting your knickers all in a twist, it's not that kind of proposition." Erik reluctantly returned to the chair he'd quickly vacated upon her mention of a proposition. Tasha looked at him as if he were a tasty treat and she wished to take a bite which, considering what she was, made him slightly nervous. "This is what I've been thinking…if at the end of your time here you and Chris have come to an understanding, would you be interested in assuming the role of Artistic Director for the Mystère? I realize it's not as grand as the Académie but there needs to be someone who understands the music better than I to guide the company forward." As the masked man simply stared at her in shock, she allowed herself a slight smile. "You don't have to make any decisions now, Monsieur Opera Ghost, but please do keep the offer in mind."

Tatiana rose to signal the meeting was over and Erik quickly followed. Shaking her hand, he left the office in a daze. Somehow, a beautiful woman with the voice of an angel claimed to love and desire him and now he'd been offered an active role in an opera house doing what he loved. Surely such things couldn't be allowed to come true for such a monster? Hesitating outside the door to the room he'd been given, Erik knew what awaited him inside. He could hear Christine's faint movements and her soft humming; like a wife waiting for her husband to return from work. The living wife he'd always dreamed of finding. How ironic that, when he did, she was the one who was no longer living. Suddenly panicking, he turned and fled the door and the angel who waited within; he fled the opera house and returned to where he belonged: the comforting, soothing darkness. As he quickly navigated the tunnels to his home beneath the Académie, he felt the confining pressure ease while his conscience suffered. No one knew he'd left Mystère or why; Christine was probably waiting for him and worrying by now but still he moved closer and closer to his underground home. He wasn't sure what he was running _from_ but he at last realized what he was running _to_: his pipe organ and the soothing sounds of music.

Back at the Mystère, a certain curly haired vampire was pacing the room she'd hoped to share with her mate. The only problem: he was no where to be found in the building. After what had almost happened that morning, Christine had been positive that she'd finally get her sexy human in her bed but now she wasn't as certain. As she paced, she thought back to the morning and furiously dissected every moment she'd spent with Erik. Was she being too forward? Was he still horrified at her break from humanity? Now that he'd had time to think it over, had he chosen to deny the bond? With that final, depressing thought, she sighed and packed the few clothes she'd brought from the townhouse into an overnight bag and left the room. She was close to tears by the time she passed the front office and made sure to take a few steadying moments before saying goodnight to her friend. Tasha looked up to return the farewell with a smile which quickly fled upon seeing the case in Christine's hand.

"Christine? What happened?" The Russian moved to stop her friend from leaving the theater and guided her back into the office. "Where's Erik?"

"I don't know, Tash. He's not here and…and he's shut me out again." A small, tremulous smile flitted across the petite beauty's face before it, too, succumbed to the misery she felt. "I told him everything this morning and thought he was willing to…to overlook everything I am but now." She sighed and shook her head. "I told him that I'd understand but…it still hurts, Tash. I'm going home."

"Ok. I have a few things left and then I'll join you."

"No, I'm going _home_. To Sweden. I can't do this anymore." Leaving quickly before she broke down, Christine walked slowly back to the townhouse. She knew where Erik would be but also knew that if he'd wanted company then he would have come to her or at least allowed her mind to touch his. Letting herself into the townhouse, she set the case by the door and moved to the kitchen. The knowledge that she could no longer pour a stiff drink to ease her pain and tension was the final straw on a particularly stressful day and she threw the glass across the room with a cry of anger and despair.

"Not a very pleasant way to greet an old friend, Christine."

Turning at the sound of the unexpected voice, the young vampire threw herself into the waiting arms of the Marchesa with a loud sob. The Ancient One, surprised at finding her arms full of weeping youngling, guided Christine onto a sofa and held her until she was calm enough to speak. Remaining in the sheltering arms of her friend, the singer related all that had happened since she was last in Venice. As her despair peaked again over her frustrating relationship with her human mate, the Marchesa sat Christine slightly away from her and looked into her eyes. Red both from crying and her intense emotions, they were also slightly clouded over as if she were half asleep.

"Christine. Will you do something for me?" Though she was confused as to what the Ancient One wanted, the brunette nodded quickly. "Good. Close your eyes, my dear, and think of your mate."

"But I can't sense him…" Hearing her voice growing suspiciously close to a whine, Christine chewed her lip and sighed before obeying the elder.

"I know you can't sense him in the way you could Julien but concentrate on him; think of how he looks, how he sounds, the things he loves." As the younger girl relaxed somewhat, a small frown marred her lovely face. "Now…tell me what you see, hear, or feel."

"It's dark…there are candles around and I'm at the organ. Music…God, what music! It burns…" Christine's voice trailed off as a tear rolled down her cheek. "No one could ever love such a monster." The Marchesa stared at her silently weeping friend for a moment before touching the right side of the girl's face softly. "No! Never touch the mask!" Her loud outburst as she pushed the elder vampire away from her seemed to snap her from her trance-like state and she quickly apologized for her outburst.

"Oh stop that, Christine. The day I let a youngling push me around will be the day I eagerly enter the Final Transition." Her mock indignation had the desired effect and the younger vampire giggled softly. "Now, I suppose you want me to explain what all that was about? Tatiana wrote to me several weeks ago concerning you and your recalcitrant mate; she was especially concerned with your sudden bouts of temper. When she discovered that your human mate had a rather volatile temper, I did some research and found out that sometimes our kind can be rather more empathic than we would wish. Your temper, your self-deprecation, as well as your very desperation are all a reflection of the feelings your mate is having or has had in the past." The Marchesa fell silent as she allowed Christine to absorb all that she'd said. She knew there would be questions and she didn't have to wait long.

"But…if I have such a link to him, Ancient One, why can't I sense his feelings? How does he block me out?"

"He doesn't, my dear, you just haven't quite learned how to handle this skill and I fear I can't help you. I've never been particularly empathic, even with bonded mates. When you tried to sense him and felt blocked, how did you feel?"

"Desolate. Like…like he no longer wanted me." Christine's lovely voice quivered and she had to fight tears once more.

"Doesn't that seem a rather extreme reaction, youngling?" As the elder's brow raised in amused query, the younger vampire slowly nodded.

"So…it's a combination of our feelings?"

"Exactly, my dear. And I fear you may even be feeding off each other; let's say he gets upset which makes you upset which he senses and his feeling escalate which also makes yours…see where this is heading?" At Christine's nod, the Marchesa smiled and hugged her. "You need to find your mate and discuss things. Tonight, before things get worse; then you should ask around and see if you can find a mentor for your skills before you go mad. Oh, but first…offer an old vampire a bed for the night?" The younger girl's laughter lightened the weight on the Ancient One's heart and she practically chased Christine away once she'd been settled into her room. Shaking her head, she chuckled to herself as she fixed her a warm glass from the stock in the icebox. No matter the century, younglings and their problems never seem to change.

**xxxx**

Christine had only made the trip through the dark tunnels once before but on this night she intuitively knew the quickest and safest route. Standing outside the large door, she placed one hand on the cool stone to steady herself before pressing the hidden switch that allowed her entry into her mate's home. Once inside, she could hear him furiously playing his organ and could feel his every emotion: pain, anger, despair, lust, all combined with an underlying thread of frightened hope. She swore right then that she'd never abuse or destroy her exceptional mate's fragile hope. With the vow fresh in her mind, she answered the call of her mate, and his music.

He'd heard the alarm when the intruder first entered the tunnels but he ignored it. There were few who could find the entrance to his home and fewer still who could manipulate the switches to open the door. Deciding to investigate later when he went to reset the alarm, Erik lost himself to the music once more. The thoughts of the beautiful woman he'd held that morning drifted into his mind and into his song which turned wistful with longing. Was she mad for imagining herself to be a creature of myth? Was he, for beginning to believe her? Regardless, he doubted even the most depraved of creatures could love his hideous monstrous self and, creature of myth or no, Christine was a veritable angel. His sigh as the notes faded away covered the sound of the door to his music room opening. When slim arms wrapped around his waist from behind, years of protective instinct and training kicked in and he turned to grip his unseen assailant by the throat. The soft brown eyes of his angel stared back at him serenely.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Immediately, he removed his hand as if burned and stood to stammer his apologies. Christine brushed aside his concern and took his hands in hers. She stared down at his long, thin white fingers in silence as she worked up the courage to ask the question she desperately needed an answer for. "Erik, why did you leave the Mystère?" He could almost hear her unasked question: _why did you leave me?_

"I needed to think, Christine; I needed my music."

"Did you ever plan to return?" Her voice was little more than a whisper as she kept her eyes glued to their joined hands.

"I didn't think…" Erik hesitated before continuing in a rush, "Why would you want me to return, Christine?" She finally lifted her eyes to his and brown met gold, both filled with hope and fear.

"You are my mate, Erik, but more than that…I feel a connection with you that I never had with my first mate. I want to be with you; forever, if that is your wish." Dropping one of his hands, she raised hers to his bare cheek and caressed it gently. "I love you, my mate." Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he saw the sincerity in her face and felt his redemption in her touch. Scared that she would pull away, Erik gently pulled his angel close until she was wrapped in his arms. Burying his face in her neck, he wept quietly as she ran her fingers lightly along his spine. When he pulled back, she gasped at the brilliance of his golden eyes which ended with a light shriek as he swept her into his arms. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her into his bedroom.

**xxxx**

In the shadows outside Le Théâtre de Mystère, a lone figure emerged to follow the young woman who'd emerged. Through several streets they walked and though the hour was late, the young woman was neither accosted nor propositioned by those who came out only in the dead of night. As she approached an elegant, exclusive club, the shadow watched her exchange words with the doorman before being shown inside. The fancy sign over the door read: _Le Rossignol_. All the windows appeared to be heavily draped, giving no clue as to what occurred within, but the shadow had heard rumors of this place. Dark rumors fit only for gothic novels and the scaring of small children into obedience. Skirting the perimeter, the shadow silently rejoiced at noticing that a small corner of one of the drapes had gotten caught on a potted plant, leaving a small window into the secrets of the club.

Peering through the corner, the shadow was aghast at what it saw. There were men and women dressed in the height of fashion sitting around a table, laughing and playing cards, while a thick, red liquid was poured in their glasses. The liquid stained their pale lips darker than any juice or wine ever could. As one of the women laughed at a comment from her companion, the candlelight reflected off her lengthened canines causing a gasp to emerge from the shadow. The slight sound was enough for those within and several eyes swiveled to find its source; eyes which, even as the figure watched in horror, shifted from their normal hue to a crimson red. Stumbling back, the shadow fled the accursed building terrified to discover that sometimes rumors are much more preferable to the truth.

After running through confusing, twisting alleys, the shadow was safely tucked away in the tawdry room of a third-rate hotel. Carefully removing the darkened cloak and cowl, the dim light of a single, flickering candle revealed the feminine form of the former star of the Mystère. As she attempted to grasp the significance of what she'd seen, she realized two things: one, she now had leverage against that Russian bitch and she'd make her pay for firing her; and two, she'd be able to take a shot at the upper class who'd always treated her like dirt for being an opera singer and the daughter of a whore. Oh yes, all she'd need is enough people to believe her tale and the bitch, the elite, and that evil den of inhuman bloodsuckers would all pay for the insults dealt to La Violetta née Violet Smith. Giggling madly, she laid upon the flea-infested mattress and quickly fell asleep to dreams of victory over all those she hated.


	17. Chapter 17

_1886_

As the strong, lean arms of her mate lay her gently upon the large bed, Christine swore silently that nothing short of the opera house falling upon them would keep him from her clutches. Lying beside her, Erik brushed the curls from her face and watched in fascination as her beautiful eyes shifted from brown to a deep crimson. So many secrets to learn about this incredible angel who lay so trustingly upon his bed… When her hands rose to rest lightly on his mask, he couldn't help but tense. The smile on her face that revealed the tips of her growing fangs assured him all would be well; he could almost hear the words 'trust me' echoing in his mind. With a small nod, he watched in trepidation as the gleaming mask of porcelain was placed upon a nightstand. When he shifted his gaze back to the angel in his bed, he gasped at the love and acceptance on her face. Tentatively, he lowered his misshapen lips to hers, hesitating when mere centimeters separated them. Christine closed the small distance, unleashing his pent up passion. Gathering her into his arms, Erik set about devouring her mouth as his hands greedily tried to touch every inch of her body at once.

Pulling back to gaze at the beautiful creature beneath him, he knew he needed to slow things down even while his body screamed at him to just take her. He placed a gentle kiss to her pale forehead before rolling her onto her stomach. Erik swept her long hair out of the way and placed soft kisses along the back of her neck as his fingers worked the hooks of her gown. He smiled at her soft moan of pleasure when he slid the material from her shoulders. Christine pulled her arms free then held her torso off the bed by her elbows as he slowly inched the dress down her petite body. She desperately wanted to scream at him to just get on with it but she had to admit that she was enjoying his teasing. Erik pulled the dress over her hips and down her legs to pool onto the floor in a tangled mess of cloth and lace. He quickly discarded her shoes before returning to the ties of her corset. _Whoever thought it a good idea to wrap women in so many layers should be drawn and quartered and their heads placed on spikes._ Glaring at the knot that held the corset tight, he reached into a sheath at his ankle, withdrew a slim sharp knife, and sliced through the offending cords. The sudden release of pressure made Christine gasp and Erik quickly removed the stiff undergarment and threw it to the side carelessly. Petticoats soon joined the growing pile of ladies' clothing on the floor until the young singer lay before him in nothing but her thin chemise and stockings.

Erik's long fingers trailed up the sides of her right leg lightly before grasping the edge of her stocking. With torturous slowness, he rolled the stocking down and off her foot. Kissing his way up the back of her now-bare leg, he let his hands wander over the light material of the other stocking before it, too, joined the pile of discarded material. Once more his lips blazed a fiery trail up the back of her leg and Christine moaned in both frustrated arousal and anticipation. Erik's fingers shook as he grasped the hem of her chemise and inched it up her body. He'd seen her nude before; but, this time, there would be no interruptions, for which he was grateful. And terrified. After a moment's hesitation, the rough texture of his misshapen lips on the smooth skin of her derriere and lower back caused a shiver to run throughout Christine's body. The higher he pushed the cloth, the higher his lips rose until she was a writhing, moaning mass of aroused female. When the thin, linen chemise fell to the floor, she could take no more of this agonizing wait. Turning over and pulling his lips to hers, she kissed him deeply.

"Oh God, Erik! Please, make love to me." Her whisper, nearly lost in her moan when his wandering fingers lightly pinched her hard nipples, sent a shudder of pure need through his body. He gave her a look that plainly told her to stay as he rose and practically tore the clothing from his body.

Instead of returning immediately, Erik walked to the foot of the bed and once more slowly kissed and caressed his way up her beautiful body. His hands kept her legs immobile for his wandering lips as they traveled from her dainty feet, up the muscled calf to the sensitive skin behind her knee, and along her inner thigh. Looking up at the incredible woman writhing beneath his untrained touch, he captured her eyes as he lowered his mouth to the wet, hot flesh that hid her greatest treasure. The first flick of his tongue along the seam of her lower lips and Christine stiffened and arched against him, begging him to continue. Easing her legs further apart, he watched her face as his warm tongue touched her hidden aching bud of flesh. Rational thought fled the young vampire's mind as she alternately begged and demanded that her mate take her and do it NOW! Awed by her response and enjoying his power over her, Erik ignored her pleas and continued his oral assault. Just as she was about to tumble down the pinnacle of ecstasy, he suddenly shifted and quickly plunged deep inside her. Time seemed to stop as he marveled at the feel of her warm, wet tunnel gripping him tightly; never in a million years had he dared believe he'd be able to make love to a willing woman, much less a beautiful one whose passion was a perfect match for his.

Growling, Christine wrapped her legs around his waist and tangled her fingers in his hair to pull his lips to hers. As her body shifted and urged him to _move_, he felt her desire, her plea, within his mind and eagerly obeyed. Slowly at first, wanting to savor this moment as long as possible, he began the ages-old dance of love and nearly wept at the feel of her hungry flesh gripping his as he withdrew and welcoming it as he thrust deep within her once more. Inexperience, lust, passion, need…all conspired against Erik's desire to prolong this glorious moment and soon he was thrusting quickly, almost harshly, into her delicious body. He felt her lips trail hotly along his jaw and down his neck and knew she, too, was walking on a tightrope of control; only hers was of a different kind. Pressing her closer, he whispered his assent and encouragement, somehow knowing she'd never deliberately hurt him. When her inner walls gripped and contracted around him, he gave in to the pleasure and cried out her name as he joined in her release. At just that moment, he felt a sharp sting on his neck that oddly seemed to intensify his pleasure. With one final thrust, Erik collapsed in a sweating, gasping heap atop his Christine; his shaking limbs barely kept him from crushing her tiny frame into the mattress. Slowly, he slid to one side and gathered her trembling body tightly against his. As his breathing slowed, reaction set in and he wept into her glorious riot of curls. He wept for his gratitude, his joy, and his soul-encompassing love for her and knew that, should he ever lose his angel, he'd become the monster everyone had always claimed him to be.

She could feel his tears against her skin and knew hers were flowing as well. Julien had been a passionate, considerate lover but never had she felt such intense pleasure during their many years together. To think that she was Erik's first intimate partner made her insides melt into fiery goo; if he got any better at his lovemaking, she was going to spontaneously combust! Nuzzling the warm skin of his neck, Christine could smell the blood that still trickled lightly from the shallow wound she'd inflicted. Unable to resist another taste of her beloved mate, she lapped at the coppery, thick liquid and nearly purred in contentment. This was where she was meant to be: in the arms of the other half of her soul. She ran her hands lightly along his slender yet muscular body and curled against him with a satisfied sigh.

"Christine?" Erik's voice was barely a whisper but she could hear the wealth of emotion it contained. "That was…" Even his expansive intelligence could barely grasp the sheer depth of feeling between them.

"Yes, my wonderful mate." Christine's extremely satisfied purr as she continued to slowly lick the tiny wound until it ceased bleeding caused a shudder to run the length of his body and he tightened his hold on her. "Our bond is a glorious thing of beauty, is it not?"

"Forgive me, my love." Suddenly his arms held her desperately against him. "Forgive me for doubting this…you…us. I never dreamed…"

This time it was Christine who'd stopped his words with a kiss, pushing at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back and pulled her atop him. Breaking their kiss slowly, she smiled down at his dazed expression and caressed his face with loving fingers. Erik watched her crimson eyes fade to their natural soft brown shade and realized he was more in awe of the utter joy they contained than he was shocked at their color. Tucking a curl behind her ear tenderly, his fingers caressed her skin as he memorized every line, every curve. When they brushed across her slowly receding canines, Christine attempted to pull away and hide her face until she'd calmed. Gently, but firmly, he held her in place as he traced her soft, pink lips and then over to one shell-like ear.

"You don't ever have to hide from me, my Angel." In his golden eyes and glorious voice, she could clearly see the truth. He had accepted her at last. At this realization, the stress and nervousness she'd been battling since she'd first felt the pull of his soul were released and she wept against his chest. "Shhh, no more tears, Angel." Erik's hands glided rhythmically over her tangle of curls until her tears faded. It wasn't long before the underground home was filled with silence as the couple drifted off to sleep in each others' arms.

**xxxx**

The sun filtered in weakly through the dirty glass and threadbare curtains to wake the former diva of the Mystère. Today, she needed to meet with others like her who'd been kicked off the stage in order to accommodate that Russian bitch's newest pet. If they wouldn't believe her about the club then they'd have to pay it a visit so they could see the truth. Violetta wasn't quite sure what, exactly, was going on in the club but she knew it wasn't right. They were drinking blood, of that she was certain, which made whatever they were doing evil. A wicked smile crossed her face as she planned an extra trip that morning to a building she'd not entered since her baptism. If they were evil, surely a priest would be willing to help send them back to hell? Chuckling softly, the singer dressed and left for her errands.

Her first visit was the small chapel whose priest was known to be less than Godly on occasion. Father Matthieu Robichaux was a big, burly man with too much fondness for the sacrificial wine and rather unique ways of giving pretty young girls absolution. His church encompassed most of the run down section of Paris where the upper class went only to participate in more unsavory acts with the prostitutes. Father Robichaux, not wanting to be excluded from such activities, had special confessional boxes constructed in the church cellars where he kept a few of the congregation until they'd been sufficiently converted. Violetta snorted slightly at the thought. The only conversion was from a paid hooker to an unpaid sex slave to one of the most depraved men in the city. She only hoped she could keep her own body off the bargaining table when she went to see him.

Three hours later, a disheveled opera singer left the small chapel with a strange mixture of disgust and satisfaction on her face. While she couldn't keep the man from demanding her services as recompense for the exorcism he was sure would be needed later in the week, Violetta was able to keep their activities to a minimum. After a swift coupling on the altar, she'd had to 'cleanse his body of the stain of sin.' It would take a drink far stronger than the sacrificial wine to get his taste from her mouth so she headed to her favorite bar. There were few people there since it was so early which gave her the opportunity to talk to the bartender. She eventually pushed the subject towards Le Rossignol and was disappointed when his only complaint was its exclusivity. Looking at the few patrons, Violetta began making her rounds amongst the men asking about the club. Each pinch, each grope, each time she had to surrender her body to get the information she wanted, she blamed on Tatiana, Christine, and that masked freak. By the time night fell once more, however, she had her answers and a plan to get her revenge on them all.

**xxxx**

The soft sound of a gently played piano pulled Christine from a good sleep and even better dream. Feeling the side of the bed, she frowned to discover it empty. Lying back amongst the pillows, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her mate, smiling as she felt his happiness. As the music soared and danced, she could feel its joy and knew she could stay away no longer. Looking through Erik's closet, she found a silky robe that brushed her calves and gaped open slightly in the front due to its size. With a wicked grin, she pulled it on and tied it loosely around her waist. If it happened to accidentally come untied while she was with her mate, well, these things happen. Tying back her unruly hair with a thin black ribbon, she felt ready to join her love.

At the piano, Erik's fingers picked out a rhythm though his mind was on the sleeping angel lying on his bed. Their night together had been unforgettable; the way she'd tasted, the way she'd moved beneath him were memories he'd cherish until the end of his days. But now…what should he do? Should he have stayed in bed and held her until she awakened? As he thought of Christine naked and spread over the sheets, all the blood rushed south and his fingers stumbled a bit on the keys. Shocked, he stared at the piano as if it had betrayed him. Erik rose from the bench with a growl of frustration and strode to the cabinet to pour a strong drink. Downing the harsh liquor in a single gulp, he hadn't heard Christine enter the music room. When she was but inches away, she softly cleared her throat and untied the robe. It fluttered to the floor just as he was turning around and, seeing her standing nude and eager, Erik growled and carried her back into the bedroom. Her light laughter faded beneath his passion and soon, the underground home was silent except for the sounds of their love. It was several passion-filled days later before either of them allowed themselves to think of the future.

"Erik?" Christine's voice was muffled by the warm skin of her lover's neck.

"Yes, my angel?"

"What happens now?" He could hear the slight tremor in her voice.

"What do you mean?" Erik pulled back slightly to gaze into crimson eyes that were slowly fading to brown. "We have sealed the bond, have we not?" Nervously, she shook her head.

"No, beloved mate. We have merely embraced it, accepted it, but we have not sealed it; not entirely."

"No? Then what should we do, Angel? I cannot lose you now that I know what utter bliss is like."

"You will never lose me, Erik, ever. I will never willingly leave your side. But…to seal the bond is to …"

Suddenly, one of the tunnel alarms sounded throughout the house and the change over her mate was instantaneous. Gone is the gentle but passionate lover; in its place is the Opera Ghost defending its territory. Quickly slipping into his trousers and grabbing the lasso, Erik was at the front door before Christine had an opportunity to do more than blink. A loud pounding on the front door spurred her into action and she hastily donned her chemise and pulled her dress over her head. She was still lacing it up when she heard the distinctive voice of the Marchesa Eleonora De Laurentiis. Inching the bedroom door open while tugging on her slippers, she froze at the Ancient One's words.

"Is Mademoiselle Daaé here, Monsieur de Lune? There has been an accident…a fire at Le Rossignol, the club, and her friend, Tatiana Alekseyeva, was believed to be inside."

* * *

_A/N: Horrible place to leave it, I know :D I've been having trouble with later chapters which is why the gaps between them have been growing. I know where I want to go but I'm having a devil of a time getting there. Ah well, it'll work itself out soon, I'm sure. _


	18. Chapter 18

_I must greatly apologize for the huge delay in getting a new chapter up. Sometimes Real Life can be such a pain. That, coupled with a tremendous case of writer's block, made everything I wrote seem forced or just plain bad. I hope there will be no more gaps in updates from now on. -Insert Standard Disclaimer Here-_

**xxxxxxxx**

_1886_

_"Is Mademoiselle Daaé here, Monsieur de Lune? There has been an accident…a fire at Le Rossignol, the club, and her friend, Tatiana Alekseyeva, was believed to be inside."_

"Oh, God, no! What happened; is Tasha alright?" Christine had just laced up the boots she'd worn to Erik's home and was attempting to tame her unruly curls into a bun as she left the bedroom. The Marchesa's words hit her like a sudden blow, leaving her stunned.

"I'm afraid I don't know, child. It appears that the fire was no accident either. Now come quickly before the fire brigade arrives and begins to ask awkward questions."

"I'm going with you." Erik's tone of voice made it clear he would accompany them whether they consented or not. While he was dressing, he planned their route. "The club is along the Boulevard des Capucines near the Rue Louis le Grand, correct? We can arrive much more quickly if we remain in the tunnels and out of the crowds above ground. Follow me; we'll exit near the crossroads of the Rue Meyerbeer and the Rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin." Draping his cloak around his shoulders and placing his fedora upon his head, the Opera Ghost led the two females into the darkness of the tunnels. It didn't take too many twists and turns before Christine was completely confused as to where they were. A glance at the Marchesa let her know that the elder was just as lost. Trembling slightly, the singer took the hand of her masked lover and trusted that he knew where he was going.

Erik felt the small hand grab onto his and he squeezed it reassuringly. Though he was certain her vision in the darkness was far keener than his, the tunnels were confusing to those who were more comfortable on the surface. The many twists and turns made it seem like a longer path but they were going beneath many of the buildings they would have had to circumnavigate on the surface. That, plus the number of people and carriages they'd have to weave through, would add time onto their trip; time they did not have if they were to arrive ahead of the fire brigade. After nearly fifteen minutes of walking through the damp, dark tunnels, they were met with the solid stone wall of a dead end. Christine was just about to ask if they'd taken a wrong turn when Erik gestured for them to be quiet as he depressed the hidden trigger. The door swung open silently revealing an empty, but clean, cellar. When none of them heard movement in the building above, he picked the lock at the top of the stairs and led them through an abandoned storefront and onto the street of a darkened alley that ran parallel to the Boulevard. A quick check of their clothing showed no evidence that the trio had been beneath the city and they stepped confidently into the growing chaos surrounding the club.

The fire was mostly concentrated in the front lounge area and there was a small army of employees and patrons alike who was busy removing anything flammable from the unaffected areas. Taking the lead, the Marchesa wove through the crowd searching for the manager or owner of the restaurant. They found the manager, a burly man who was a master mason before his Transition, in the kitchen area trying to salvage what he could while concealing the items served to the majority of his patrons from the very human members of the approaching fire brigade. Now wearing the elegant clothing of Paris' elite upper class, only his size and gruff manner hinted at Friedrich Kiesl's humble beginnings. His sandy blonde hair was held back from his face with a simple, black ribbon which allowed the blue of his eyes to become the main focal feature in his ruggedly handsome face. Through the years since his Transition, he'd lost the calluses that showed his origins in heavy labor and his tanned skin had paled like all of his kind but, beneath it all, he remembered his days amongst the dust and mortar of his former trade. When he spotted the statuesque Italian Ancient, he smiled broadly and kissed her hand with an elegant flair. She spoke quietly with him for a moment and he glanced up at the couple who hovered just outside the rear doorway. His eyes widened when they fell on the Marchesa's companions and he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"What were you thinking in bringing _him_ back here, Marchesa?"

"Who do you mean, Friedrich? Erik? I don't believe Christine's mate has ever been here before."

"Oh, he's been here, alright." The manager's voice dropped to a growl as his eyes flashed red. "Who do you think started the fire? He and his _friends_," he spat the word through rapidly elongating fangs, "came early in the evening, brandishing torches and yelling that they were sending the monsters back to hell. Then they started the fire at the door to block everyone in as they broke the windows and threw the torches inside. I don't yet know how many perished before we got them out through the kitchens."

"It wasn't Erik, Friedrich. He's been with his mate all evening and wouldn't have done this even had he not. He's had his own share of being called a monster, my friend; he doesn't wear the mask as an affectation."

The manager watched as the slender human and his petite vampire mate joined the others in salvaging as much as they could from the hungry flames. Slowly, he realized that this man, this Erik, was taller, thinner, and far more graceful than the one who'd led the attack on the club. Pointing this out, he acknowledged that this put the attack into a new light.

"Since it was obvious who they were trying to set up, we can at least narrow the list. Who would have a grudge against our kind as well as the masked human?"

"I don't know. Yet. But you can be certain I will discover who did this and why." The Ancient One pulled her attention from the couple and back to the manager. "One more thing, old friend, and then I will join the others in salvaging what we can of Le Rossignol. Have you seen Tatiana since the fire? I heard she was here tonight."

"She was but she seemed quite agitated, never remaining at a single table for long; I think she left around the time the arsonists arrived. You should talk to Raphaela or Thelios; they were the last I saw with her. Did you know that her mate is somewhere in Paris and yet she refuses to hunt for him?" As the Marchesa shook her head in denial, Friedrich snorted slightly and returned to securing the hidden hatch that now housed the club's blood supply. "From what I could gather from her companions, the pull of the bond is growing stronger so he must be getting closer. If she's not home, you might have some luck at the rail stations."

The Marchesa thanked her friend for his help before returning to Christine and her mate and relayed an abbreviated version of what she'd been told. She knew well of Erik's infamous temper and preferred to wait until they were in a less public locale to alert him to the fact that someone was attempting to place the blame upon the Opera Ghost. When they could hear the bells signaling the arrival of the fire brigade, the Ancient One subtly but persistently maneuvered the trio towards Christine's townhouse. Once there, the Marchesa directed the young vampire to search Tasha's room for evidence that she'd packed and left. When Erik moved to join his mate, the Ancient One placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to stop him. It was time to relay the full story though she wanted to do so without worrying her young friend any further.

"I have many enemies, Madame la Marchioness, though few remain and even fewer know of my continued existence. None would see reason to strike at the club or Mademoiselle Alekseyeva." The lean masked man paced the small room as he pondered the latest information. When he stopped and turned so quickly and fluidly, the Marchesa wondered just how far her friend had gotten with her mate. "Violetta." The name dripped from his lips like the vilest of poisons and made even the Ancient One shudder at its coldness. "She is the only person of whom I'm aware that knows all three of us. She was also recently removed as lead soprano of the Mystère, which is owned by the ladies and for whom I've been doing some…consultation work, and thus has a grudge against both Mademoiselle Alekseyeva and myself."

"Then perhaps we should begin our search there." The ancient vampire followed the couple into the street once more hoping things were as simple as human vengeance.

**xxxx**

Violetta led her gang back to the Mystère where she planned to resume her lead role now that the Russian bitch was no longer around. The side entrance still yielded to her key and they all tumbled in, laughing and talking about their 'glorious triumph' over the French Elite in general and Tatiana Alekseyeva in particular. Glancing over her shoulder, the former lead soprano noticed their star performer had lagged behind and went back to the doorway to fetch him. Standing just outside the doorway stood a man startlingly similar to Erik St. John wearing black trousers and topcoat, black cloak with red liner, black gloves and fedora, and a pure white shirt and porcelain half-mask over the right side of his face. If he was perhaps a tad shorter and thicker than the Opera Ghost, or if the mask covered the wrong side of his face, then those were minor details easily overlooked in the panic of trying to escape a burning building.

"Monsieur Ivan? Will you not come and join us in our little celebration? I'm sure the Russian bitch has something hidden away in her wine cabinet that will appeal to your tastes."

Nodding, he silently motioned for her to lead as he stepped into the building and closed the door behind them. There was something odd about the building though he couldn't quite place his finger on it. It lingered in the back of his mind, like an almost forgotten perfume or the merest of snippets of a song. Like those, the more he pondered on it, the more it eluded him so he pushed it from his mind and rejoined the noisy group who were celebrating their success.


	19. Chapter 19

_1886_

Hidden in the shadows of the rail station completely unaware of the heartache her friends were suffering on her behalf, Tasha watched the many humans that stepped tiredly from the train. The pull of the bond was so great that it nearly made her weep with longing. Her mate was on this train and the knowledge both thrilled and terrified her. She didn't want to be so dependant on another for her happiness. She didn't want to lose the other half of her soul to old age and death; yet she also didn't want to bring another into this endless existance. As the humans moved through the station like a herd of cattle, Tasha's attention was drawn to an elegant private car whose doors were being opened by a liveried servant. A glance around the station showed that it was mostly empty. 'No chance of the rich and snooty bumping shoulders with the commoners,' Tasha snidely thought to herself. The first person to exit the car was vaguely familiar and seemed to reflect the young vampire's opinion of those who rode within. A stunning lady of perhaps forty, her beauty was dimmed by her extensive use of powder to try to hide the signs of aging in her face as well as the many diamonds scattered about her person. When she turned to look into the car, Tasha silently applauded the lady's _modiste_ for finding a fabric that could withstand the strain the corset was under. She was certain that eventually the strain would be too much and the corset would shoot out a strip of its steel boning like a bolt from a crossbow. She dearly hoped she was there to see it.

The gentleman upon whom the lady was waiting emerged from the train slowly and with great complaint. Nearly as round as he was tall, Tasha had to smother a giggle at how well the pair complemented each other. His ensemble was as flashy as the lady's and obviously made by the same tailor using the same materials. Though the gentleman had forgone the use of gemstones throughout his attire, he more than made up for it on his fingers and around his neck. He took the lady's hand and placed a flamboyant kiss upon it before barking at one of the young boys who carried luggage to waiting carriages for tips. The child, no more than ten or eleven, hurried over to take their cases thinking that such obviously wealthy personages would tip well. As the footman placed the many boxes and cases onto the landing, the boy started running them out to another footman who tied them onto a luggage cart. Tasha, still hidden, wondered who else was on the train. Neither the footman, the doorman, nor the rotund gentleman tugged at the mate bond for which she was grateful. Deciding that it must be one of the train's staff, she turned to leave when the most beautiful man she'd ever seen exited the car. She'd started towards him unconsciously; the pull of the bond the strongest it had ever been. This was her mate.

Struggling against the bond, Tasha ducked back into the shadows hoping to discover the name of this new person, her mate. He was entirely delectible from his elegant overcoat and cashmere scarf to the intentional disarray of his blonde hair. She estimated he was close to six feet tall and well proportioned with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He stopped to speak to the doorman of the train car and she was pleased to see him laughing at something the servent said before shaking his hand and moving towards the garish couple. The contrast of his understated elegance to their gaudy flare was even more remarkable when he stood with the others. It was obvious he was not only very wealthy but more than likely a member of the nobility. Tasha couldn't even fathom what he was doing travelling with the other two. Silently creeping closer, she overheard them talk of opera and finally placed a name to the lady: Carlotta, the star of Garnier's opera house. That would make her round companion the leading tenor, Piangi, but didn't explain the elegant gentleman. A patron, perhaps?

After some low, but fairly heated words, the two actors left in a hired carriage with the luggage cart trailing behind. The gentleman gestured to the footman who'd offloaded the luggage from the train and waited while it was loaded onto a carriage emblazoned with his family crest. The train station was now empty of all but the youngling and the gentleman and Tasha decided it was time to leave before she did something exceedingly stupid like pounce on the man and beg him to keep her forever.

"Whoever you are, you should know it's impolite to spy." The gentleman's voice was as lovely as his face and full of humor as he glanced around the empty station. Tasha silently cursed in Russian and pressed more fully against the wall where she hid. If he followed the pull of the bond, he'd be able to find her and she'd placed herself into a position that had no exits without being seen. "I know you're there," he started walking towards her, "so why don't you come out and introduce yourself? I somehow doubt you're a thief after my purse."

"No, I'm not a thief, my lord," Tasha reluctantly stepped into the light, looking around for the nearest exit. "I doubt, however, that your family would appreciate your talking to one such as I so I'll just bid you a good night." As she was talking, she crept closer to the exit and away from the maddening pull of her mate. She had just about made it to freedom when a warm, gentle hand wrapped around her upper arm to stop her.

"Let me deal with my family, my lady. I'm more interested in you and why I feel so compelled to know you." The words she'd been about to say faded away when she looked into his face. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky and she was unable to look away. Tasha knew if she didn't leave soon, she'd never have the strength to do so.

"Compelled, my lord? Nonsense. It is nothing more than the challenge of a commoner who doesn't throw herself at your feet." She kept her words light even while trying to remove his hand from her arm. Though his hold was gentle, it was unbreakable.

"Don't," his voice was steady but his eyes pleaded with her for an explanation. "Please don't dismiss this feeling, this need to know you as something so crass as my perceived arrogance. I have felt this…this yearning, this hunger for so long and to now see you, touch you, know that you are what I've been yearning for," one gloved hand raised to caress her cheek softly. "I have travelled the world looking for you, my lady. Don't walk away from me now."

"I should," she whispered softly even though she couldn't tear her eyes from his. "For your own good, for your very soul, I should walk away now and get as far from you as I can. God forgive me but I simply can't. I've waited for you for too long."

"Then explain what's going on, m'dear, for it seems you understand this far more than I." Glancing around the station, Tasha nodded with a sigh and motioned towards a bench half hidden by a potted plant.

"Shall we sit, my lord?"

"I think not." Keeping a firm but gentle hold on her arm, he guided her towards his waiting carriage. "Let's ride for a bit, instead. The carriage should be warm and we'll have more privacy than we would here." When the youngling didn't protest, he helped her get settled then climbed in to sit facing her. "I've instructed the driver to take a circuitous trip around the Bois. If we need more time, I'll give him further directions at that time. Is that sufficient?"

Tasha simply nodded, wondering how in the world she was to explain the situation without thinking she was a crazy woman. For all of her fighting and protesting, now that she'd found her mate and been in his company, she was desperate to keep him. She knew this would be impossible for the crest on the door of the fine vehicle in which they sat proved that many times over. He was a nobleman and she, a chorus girl from Russia who also just happened to be a vampire. A gentle touch of his hand brought her from her gloomy thoughts and she sighed again before giving him a weak smile.

"I suppose the best place to start would be telling you who I am. My name is Tatiana Alekseyeva and I was born in a small village outside Moscow, Russia, in the spring of 1857. When I was but nineteen, there were certain…changes in my life and I felt you immediately. I knew you were out there, somewhere, but I was determined not to be a victim to the pull of the bond."

"Bond?" The gentleman gently prodded when she fell silent.

"You see, what you are feeling is the result of a mating bond that links your soul to mine. It was explained to me that…that in the world of humans there is born the perfect match to one of my kind. We feel the birth if we have already Transitioned; we yearn for them as they move beyond adolescence into adulthood. While you've felt it as a sort of wanderlust, a seeking of something just beyond your reach, I've always known you were out there…somewhere. I had hoped to fight the bond but the closer we both got to Paris, the harder it was to resist. I thought…tonight, I would just see you and then go but it was stronger than I knew and I couldn't leave once I'd spoken with you."

Silence fell over the occupants of the well-sprung carriage; the only sound for many moments was of the horses' hooves clattering rhythmically over the cobblestone street. Tasha kept her eyes glued to her clasped hands in her lap in order to keep her from draping herself over her mate like a feather boa and begging him to stay with her. She could hear the faint pulsing of his blood through his veins, smell the scent of his cologne as well as his own more subtle and earthy scent. When the tips of her fangs pressed against her lower lip, she knew she'd need to get away from him soon for the desire to taste him and claim him as hers was growing too strong in such close proximity.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Mademoiselle Alekseyeva. You call me a human as if you are not one and mention a…Transition? I fear your answer raises only more questions, m'dear."

Tasha requested that they stop near a small fountain and leave the carriage. She wanted him to feel safe when she revealed her true nature, able to escape if he felt it necessary. Confused but curious, he did as she asked and they walked the short distance to a well-illuminated bench under a nearby gaslight. Once they were seated, she let her fangs elongate completely and hoped she was doing the right thing in showing him what she was.

"To answer your earlier question, my lord. No, I am not entirely human…not any more. The Transition I spoke of was the change from the human girl I was to what I am now." Finally facing him completely with the light shining on her face, he couldn't fail to see her crimson eyes or sharp fangs. "I am what you'd call a vampire."

At first the gentleman sat silently, absorbing what she'd said, but then he jumped to his feet with an annoyed sound. Tasha could feel his anger and was confused. Fear she could understand, even disgust, but she didn't understand his anger.

"Mademoiselle, you have had your fun but now the joke's gone too far." His voice was colder than the snow that was beginning to fall and, even though she didn't feel the temperature, she shivered from the sound. "Who put you up to this? Freddy? Antoine? What did they pay you to lead me on this wild goose chase?" Grabbing her arms, he pulled her from the bench and gave her a little shake. His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her upper arms when she tried to pull away to hide her tears. Now she knew what Christine had gone through when Erik had rejected her and she wondered how the petite vampire had survived the pain.

"Monsieur, I promise you that this is no joke and I don't know the gentlemen you mentioned; however, if you will let me go, I'll not bother you again." She watched as a tear fell from her cheek onto the fine layer of snow that was starting to accumulate and quickly covered it with her foot. Tasha knew she needed to leave and soon. When his hand closed over her chin to force her to meet his gaze, she knew the moment he noticed the bloody trails left by her tears.

"Oh, you're good. I hope they paid you well for this performance. The tears that look like blood is quite a nice touch, mademoiselle." The amount of scorn in the handsome nobleman's voice caused Tasha to cringe. If he didn't believe her, there would be no chance of him accepting the bond. After all this time of fighting it, now that she'd decided to accept, her mate was rejecting her. With a burst of strength brought on by sheer desperation, the youngling wrenched herself from his arms and placed the length of the bench between them.

"My lord, I hope you'll accept my deepest apologies for disturbing your evening. Please be assured I will not trouble you further." With a quick and awkward curtsy, Tatiana turned away from the other half of her soul and began the painful walk home.


	20. Chapter 20

_1886_

Inside the theater, Ivan watched Violetta and her crew steadily grow more and more intoxicated from the liquor found in the manager's office. Now that he was inside, he could smell the scents of two of the younglings he'd been looking for: his Tasha and Julien's bitch. He relaxed behind the modest desk and perused the many documents that lay in neat piles but found nothing to interest him. There was nothing to indicate an address other than the theater but he knew they weren't sleeping here. Their scents were too faint except in certain areas that were related to the function of the theater. The sound of glass breaking pulled him from his thoughts and he watched the last man pass out in an undignified slump leaving only himself and Violetta conscious. It took a great effort on his part not to curl his lip in disgust when she sauntered up to him while removing each layer of clothing with a lustful gleam in her eye.

"Monsieur Ivan…you've refused payment for your help tonight but perhaps you might take payment of another sort?" Her chemise was the last item to drift from her body to the floor and she moved between him and the desk, leaning back to bring her bare breasts into prominence. "I can think of many ways to thank you, monsieur."

"I bet you can." Grabbing her arms, he pulled her onto his lap abruptly causing her to give a startled shriek before she molded her body against his. "However…I had my own reasons for helping you and require a rather unique form of payment."

Wrapping a hand in her hair, Ivan yanked her head back harshly to bare her throat. Seeing his red eyes and lengthening fangs, Violetta tried desperately to move from his lap but he was far stronger than she. With a chuckle that nearly froze the blood in her veins, he forced her to her knees. "You're passable for a human; I might even wait until you come before I kill you. That will depend on how well you please me."

Yanking her close to his crotch, the former diva easily understood what he wanted from her right then and untied his trousers with shaking hands. As her mouth descended upon his cold, semi-hard member, Ivan brought one of her wrists to his mouth and bit harshly into the vein. Taking a long drink, he only partially healed the wound before doing the same to her other wrist. The smell of her fear mingled with the smell of her blood and he was hard instantly. Standing, he held her head as he savagely fucked her face without even checking to see if she could breathe between thrusts. Without warning, he pulled her mouth from him and tossed her carelessly onto the desk. Burying himself into her unready body, he laughed at her scream of pain. As he used her for his own pleasure, his mouth was everywhere: biting her breasts for a long pull of her pain and terror filled blood, running a sharpened fingernail up her leg to leave a crimson trail which he licked before sinking his fangs into her femoral artery, tearing a ragged gash into the tender skin on the inside of her elbow so her blood flowed onto her stomach where he lapped it up like an animal. Violetta could feel him abusing her body, could see the blood as it poured from more and more wounds, and hear the lewd sounds of his hips slapping against her naked flesh but she felt so detached from it all. She was cold and tired and her limbs felt oh so heavy. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed forever was the bloody lips of her rapist and killer mere seconds before he tore out her throat as he released himself into her body.

"Too bad you didn't enjoy yourself. It would have been the perfect opportunity to come and go at the same time." Hysterical laughter tinged with more than a little bit of madness echoed around the room as Ivan withdrew from the dead woman and adjusted himself back into his trousers. Licking his lips, he moved towards the incapacitated humans and drained each of their blood. Once all who'd seen him were dead, he opened a deep, jagged tear in Violetta's stomach and dipped a quill into the thick coppery liquid that trickled from the wound. The message he wrote was left pinned to her breast with a letter opener. Wiping his face with her chemise, Ivan left the theater with a spring in his step and a song on his lips. There was a sewer access less than a block from the theater; he could sleep there protected from the painful rays of the sun and return quickly once dusk fell.

**xxxxx**

Since the walk was not far from the townhouse to the Mystère, Erik, Christine, and the Marchesa decided against a hired carriage in the hopes of spotting Tatiana on her way home. As they approached the main entrance, Erik stopped the women from advancing. The door was slightly ajar. Christine could do little more than stare as her mate faded into the shadows and approached the entryway in utter silence. With a strange coil of thin rope in one hand, he eased the door open with the other just enough to squeeze through and get swallowed up by the darkness within. She moved to follow when a firm hand stopped her and she turned to see the Marchesa shake her head. Vampires they might be but they'd only prove to be a distraction to the masked man if there were hostiles inside. It seemed like hours yet barely fifteen minutes passed before Erik emerged from the theater.

"Mademoiselle Alekseyeva is not inside." He was quick to reassure his mate though reluctant to relay what he'd seen in the office. Taking her in his arms, he held her close to lend her strength as he relayed the gruesome scene he'd encountered. Against his wishes, both women demanded to see the office and, after several minutes of loud debate, he gave in with the caveat that he take the lead just in case the killer remained behind.

The smell of blood lingered in the air outside the office door like a tangible cloud and Christine could feel her body reacting to the intoxicating scent. With sheer force of will, she kept tight control over her fangs though she could do nothing about her eyes; their scarlet glow was a disturbing sight in the darkened theater. Opening the door, she was thrown back in time to her's and Julien's estate in Sweden, looking upon the savagely brutalized bodies of her staff. Fighting against her Hunger and her nausea at such a horrific sight, the youngling approached the mutilated body of the former diva in order to read the letter.

_A present for the two ladies in my life. _

_To Tatiana…you should never have run from me and for that you will be punished. I will reclaim you soon, my pet, and show you how we were meant to be. _

_To Julien's little whore…enjoy looking over your shoulder, bitch, for it took me years to heal from your mate's unwarranted attack. To strike at his own kin on behalf of the cattle that worked in his home was unforgiveable. Soon, you'll wish it was you on that desk._

_Ivan_

"Do you know this Ivan, Christine?" Erik gestured towards the note, keeping a careful eye on the shadows in case the attacker returned.

Shaking her head, the petite vampire backed out of the office then ran out of the theater to breathe in the clean, fresh winter air. She didn't know the killer, not really, but she'd seen his handiwork once before just before Julien was taken from her forever. She never knew the two elders had been unsuccessful in destroying the insane rogue vampire. She had also been unaware that the brutal murders of her house staff in Sweden had been committed by Tasha's sire. It had just become increasingly important for her to find the youngling before the killer did. As Christine calmed herself and fought off the Hunger that still affected her when confronted with large amounts of human blood, Erik and the Marchesa emerged from the theater to check on her. Without looking their way, she told the story of the attack on the Rüb family who worked at their estate and how Julien had gone to destroy the rogue even though they both knew he would not be returning. When Erik gently wrapped his arms around her, she turned to clutch at him desperately fearing that somehow the rogue would take another mate from her and leave her all alone once more.

**xxxxx**

The sun was just beginning to rise as Tasha made her way back to the townhouse she shared with Christine but she paid it little attention. What was she going to do now that her mate had rejected her? She couldn't stay in Paris, that was a certainty, but was reluctant to return to her native Russia. A boy on the street corner near their home was calling out the headlines to that day's newspaper and it gave her pause. Buying the paper, she read of the trial of the bombers in Haymarket with interest. The United States seemed a rather hostile place, with red-skinned savage natives and earthquakes and riots; however, it was also a greater distance from Paris than her home country. Christine was happy in Paris now that her mate had accepted their bond and the two of them could run the Mystère far better than she ever could. There was nothing holding her in France. With a heavy heart, she climbed the stairs to the place she'd called home for so many years. It was time to pack.

Less than an hour later, Tasha emerged from the townhouse with a suitcase, a satchel that contained her packet of home earth and several small bags of blood, and several hundred francs she hoped to exchange once she'd landed in the New World. She'd left a letter for Christine explaining why she had to leave and that she'd write as soon as she'd secured lodgings in the United States. She'd thanked her friend for their years together and hoped she and Erik spent many years together as a happily bonded pair. She took one last look at her home before turning towards the train station. She assumed there would be trains going to the coast several times a day and she planned to take the first available in hopes of finding a ship to the US.


	21. Chapter 21

_1886_

Reluctant to involve the gendarmes, the Marchesa arranged for some of her friends at Le Rossignol to fetch and dispose of the bodies. There was a demand for recently deceased humans at the various Universities for study in anatomy and other sciences with no questions asked and at least this prevented grave robbing for a little while. Once they were gone, the three companions worked to scrub the blood from the office before the first of the cast arrived. Trying to keep things as normal as they could for their cast members, Erik and Christine stayed at the theater to oversee rehearsals while the Marchesa returned to the townhouse to see if Tasha had returned.

Without the constant interruptions of their former diva, the company was able to quickly run through the night's show with few adjustments. Erik still took a copious amount of notes during the rehearsals but they were small things that were easily changed with little impact on the show. Christine worked with Collette, teaching her the breathing exercises she'd learned in Moscow, while her mate spoke with the conductor and several members of the orchestra about the few places that still needed some work. By the end of the morning rehearsal, they felt confident in the improvement of the company and gave them the rest of the afternoon to rest before the night's performance. On the way to the office, they were intercepted by the Marchesa who bore a note left at the townhouse by Tasha. A quick scan told Christine all she needed to know and she rushed to the door to flag down a hired carriage. Erik informed the driver that he'd be _extremely upset_ should they take too long on their journey and miss their friend at the rail station. Pale and frightened of the imposing masked man, the driver swore he'd go as fast as possible.

**xxxxx**

On the other side of Paris, another carriage was speeding towards the rail station. Unlike the hired cab, this one was well-sprung with a matching pair of snow-white horses and a large crest painted on both sides. Inside, the nobleman tried to come to terms with all he had heard from this woman who called herself his "mate". Were there really vampires living amongst them? If so, what else was real? He didn't have any answers but knew where to get them: Tasha. Fidgeting with the top hat in his lap, he hoped he was going to the right place. She'd said she'd leave Paris and France in order to sever the bond between them but he was no longer certain he wanted her to go. Just the thought of never seeing the lovely young woman (vampire?) made his heart jump into his throat. Regardless of what she may, or may not, be, he wanted to pursue the feelings between them.

**xxxxx**

Inside the rail station, Tasha sat in a secluded corner to await her train to Le Havre. The tickets were secured inside a hidden pocket of her dress and now all she had left to do was wait. And think. She never expected her mate's rejection to have hurt so badly. She knew it took humans some time to accept that there were more sentient beings besides human that walked upon the earth, so she didn't fault him for his surprise and initial disbelief. With a deep sigh, she leaned her head back against the wall and pictured his face one last time before she attempted to bury it deep in her heart forever. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, she quickly pulled her crimson handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her face. While she was occupied, the inhabitants of both speeding carriages burst through the station doors.

"Tasha!" The years of practicing her projection enabled Christine's voice to carry throughout the busy station. The subject of the soprano's search curled up tighter on the bench and prayed the potted plant was barrier enough for her elder's keen sight. What hid her from her friends, however, couldn't hide her from the gentleman who approached from a different direction.

"Mademoiselle Tatiana! You are a difficult lady to find, did you know that?" Turning at the sound that made her soul sing joyfully, Tasha realized that the mental picture she'd had of him in the harsh glare of the gaslights didn't do him justice. He really was a glorious specimen of man. And he was so far beyond her reach that it made her want to weep anew.

"Monsieur, what are you doing here?"

"I believe we have some unfinished business, mademoiselle. You left before our conversation was completed." Dazed by his nearness, Tasha allowed her mate to help her to her feet which revealed her location to her friends.

Christine practically ran towards the youngling, relieved she wasn't injured in the fire. Erik and the Marchesa followed along at a more sedate pace even though they were also pleased that the girl was unharmed. The Ancient One scolded Tasha gently for giving them all a scare before enveloping her into a tight embrace. There were few the ancient vampire could call friend and she was determined not to lose any more of them. As the three embraced, Erik approached the rather bemused nobleman.

"We should get the ladies somewhere more private for their reunion and there is urgent information for Mademoiselle Alekseyeva that is best not discussed in a busy rail station."

"Do you have a suggestion, monsieur?"

"The Mystère." Erik slowly peeled his mate away from her friend. "Christine, we should take this reunion back to the theater. There is much Mademoiselle Alekseyeva needs to know."

Reluctant to let her friend out of her sight again, Christine agreed. Tasha needed to know Ivan still lived and was coming for her, for them both. Fifteen minutes later and both carriages were heading towards the theater. Inside the nobleman's carriage, the youngling kept her hands tightly clasped in her lap trying to resist reaching for her mate. As the silence between them grew uncomfortable, she searched for something to talk about.

"Monsieur? Why are you here? I promised you I'd leave Paris in order to sever the bond between us; this will only make things more difficult."

"Mademoiselle…Tatiana. I'm not sure what I believe or how much I believe what you told me but I can't deny how drawn I am to you. If you will give me time to adjust and learn, I would like to explore this…bond."

"I'm not sure that would be wise," Tasha whispered, keeping hope from flaring. "The longer we remain close to each other, the harder the bond will be to sever. But, if you wish, I'll speak with the Marchesa and see what options we have."

"She's…like you? A vampire?" It was difficult to say with any kind of seriousness, but he didn't want to risk insulting her again.

"I can't say, Monsieur. Until you have accepted the bond and what I am, I can't share anything further. It's far too dangerous for all of us."

He was about to speak again when the carriage came to a stop outside the theater. Being a patron of the Académie Nationale, he'd never attended an opera in a different theater while in Paris. The building was older than Garnier's masterpiece, but had its own charm and atmosphere. From the posters that advertised the current opera, they were slightly more avant garde than the Académie which sparked his interest. He also hoped they were without a diva who made everyone's lives miserable; no one deserved a Carlotta. He helped Tasha from the carriage and it wounded him far more than he'd expected when she flinched at his touch. Bidding his coachman to return to his estate, he offered his arm to his companion and they walked into the building.

They hadn't even reached the door to Tasha's office when the scent first reached her sensitive nose. Blood. Human blood. And a lot of it. The seductive, forbidden aroma had her wishing she could run far away from the temptation it offered even as she was lured closer. She felt the changes that her mate had scorned so recently as being the result of clever props and make up; her fangs elongated, her nails lengthened into sharp talons, and her eyes shifted to molten pools of crimson fire. She was a young vampire, younger even than Christine, and the predator within was desperate for release. Tasha knew that she had to put some space between her and her mate or risk losing control. Stepping away from him, she held up a hand in warning when he attempted to close the space between them.

"Monsieur, I realize you don't believe that I am what I say, but I must request that, for your own safety, please don't come any closer."

"Tatiana? What's wrong?" Looking around, he neither saw nor heard anything out of the ordinary. Tasha utilized his distraction to close the distance to the office door and increase the distance between them.

Inside the office, everything looked normal but the scent of blood was nearly overpowering to the youngling. Seeing her distress, the Marchesa suggested they take the discussion somewhere less tempting for the younglings. Christine agreed and led them to the room more recently occupied by her current mate, Erik. Slowly, Tasha could feel the bloodlust calming with every step away from the office. Once inside the room, the Marchesa ran through an abbreviated version of the fire at Le Rossignol, their fear that Tasha was within, the discovery of the bodies in the office, and then the letter left as a warning for her and Christine.

"Have the gendarmes been called in, Madame?" Tasha's mate directed his question towards the Marchesa. "Surely this is a matter best suited for their talents."

"And who might you be, Monsieur?" The Ancient One's eyes turned towards the handsome blonde man standing extremely close to Tasha. Her tone was guarded as were her words in telling the events of the night. Revealing themselves to too many humans could prove dangerous to all involved.

"My name is Raoul, Madame, the Vicomte de Chagny." The blonde man bowed elegantly, totally missing Erik's smirk. Tasha, however, didn't and shot a glare towards the masked man.

"Nice. You are a patron of the Académie Nationale, are you not? Then I'm sure you realize that not everything that could be handled by the gendarmes should be. This is one of those things, Monsieur le Vicomte." Handing the letter to Tasha, she continued. "As with humans, sometimes people seek power, strength, fame, riches…the usual temptations and we are forced to police our own. We had thought this particular problem had already been resolved but it seems our information was faulty."

"But…Ivan's dead. We weren't bonded but he was my sire and I felt him die! This cannot be him." As much as she wanted to convince them, Tasha also wanted to convince herself. Her Sire had created then abandoned her and she had no desire to encounter him again.

"Regardless, if this creature is breaking our first rule, then we're going to have to find a way to stop him while protecting those most susceptible. We have to assume someone is watching the theater and reporting back to him. Monsieur St. John will be quite safe in his home for he is not only well-protected there but few know of its existence. The Vicomte will be more difficult unless he is to leave Paris for one of his country homes."

"Nonsense! I am not going to let some ruffian chase me from Paris or make me cower like a scared pup with his tail between his legs."

"Then you will die, monsieur." It was Christine's soft voice that stopped the Vicomte's tirade for it held such certainty. There was no doubt in her mind that his life would end in the same horrific manner as her servants those many years ago. "I've seen this…man's handiwork many years ago. Julien and I offered up our home as a haven to those of our kind; a safe place to rest, drink, or just share in like company. Ivan abused that in the worst possible way. He entered our home, slaughtered our housekeeper in the most violent and violating fashion imaginable then dragged our butler outside, hung him from a tree, and spent many hours torturing the poor man until he, too, succumbed to his injuries. Julien and one other went in search of him to end his murderous unlife and, though my mate never returned, I was certain they had succeeded. He is here now and nothing a mere human, no matter how noble, can do will stop him. Unlike most of our kind, he broke the first rule: he feeds on humans. While that restricts his movements to the nighttime hours, it also enhances his strength, his hearing, his vision, and his speed to supernatural levels."

"Regardless, Madame," the Vicomte interjected coldly. "I will not flee to the safety of the country and allow women to fight my battles for me. Mademoiselle Tatiana tells me we are soul mates. Though I'm still uncertain as to what that entails, I have felt a yearning for her for years. I will not allow her to put herself at risk while I rusticate."

"A noble sentiment, Monsieur le Vicomte, but can you handle yourself in battle? If you are going to be more of a distraction than help, we insist upon you taking yourself away from here." For the first time that night, Erik spoke up and made little effort to hide the disdain from his voice. There was little in a nobleman's life that would prepare the boy for the upcoming battle. The Opera Ghost had spent years perfecting the art of murder in both quick and creative ways as a result of the life he'd been forced into because of the horror of his face. He couldn't imagine the nobleman had done much to sully his hands beyond a horse race or a night of drinking and cards.

"I fought in the war, Monsieur. I'm no stranger to blood or death or filth."

"Very well, Monsieur le Vicomte, but before we go any further, you must understand just what is you will be dealing with. To be caught unawares could be fatal." With that, the Ancient One brought the debate to a close and drew everyone closer to begin working on their plan of action.


End file.
